002 Deadly Intent (11 page)

“Alan, this is no time to start blaming yourself,” Nancy said firmly. “You have to tell us what you know so we can figure out what to do about it.”

“I really believed them. I thought they wanted me to record because they thought I was good. And when Marshall told me that Barton’s disappearance was a publicity stunt, I believed that, too. I mean, I
wanted
to believe it. As long as he was all right, but out of the picture, he was my ticket to success. So when Harold Marshall asked me to tell you I saw Barton, I agreed. Don’t get me wrong. I really believed Barton was fine.”

“But Alan, I thought you said Marshall didn’t have anything to do with whatever is going on,” said Nancy, confused.

“That’s right. He didn’t. Vivian planted the publicity idea in his head and then told him she’d take care of the details. So when you started asking questions, Nancy, he thought you were nosing in where you didn’t belong. Vivian convinced him to offer me a contract in exchange for getting you off his back. Of course, neither of them ever expected to let me go through with the recording.” Alan toyed with a strand of dark curly hair. “I guess I was a fool.”

“Alan,” Nancy asked impatiently, “how do you know all this?”

“I’m getting to that. See, I had convinced myself that my lie about Barton wouldn’t hurt anyone, but when you and Bess had that fight, I saw that something was wrong. To make things worse, Bess was defending me when I didn’t even deserve it.”

“Why didn’t you level with her right then and there? And with me?” Nancy bent down to look Alan in the eye.

“I wanted to. But I was so afraid Bess would hate me for it. I just didn’t have the guts to confess.” Regret was etched on his face, and Nancy felt her anger toward him soften a bit.

“So I stuck to my lie,” Alan went on, “but I just didn’t feel right about it after that. You started me worrying about whether Barton really was all right, and I realized that if anything happened to him, it would be partially my fault. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Bess then, but I decided that, at the very least, I ought to go to Mr. Marshall and insist that I see Barton in person. Just to know for sure.” Alan took a breath.

“Anyhow, I went over to his office late this afternoon, while Bess was out jogging. He wasn’t there, but Vivian was. She was sitting in his office using the telephone, and the door was open a crack. I could hear everything she said, and it was what I just told you about the publicity story and my record contract.”

“And something about a shipment of some sort?” Nancy asked, recalling his earlier words.

“Yeah. I don’t know what kind of shipment, but she told whoever she was talking to that it was going out tonight.”

“The bootleg albums,” Nancy said. “Did she say where they were being shipped to?”

“Heading east, that’s all.”

“Weird,” Roger said. “I thought New York was as far east as you could get. Maybe she meant the east side of town.”

“Or maybe she wasn’t talking about this country at all,” Nancy said. “Maybe by east she meant the eastern hemisphere.”

“Like China?” Roger asked.

“Exactly,” Nancy sighed. Her hunch about the lack of copyright laws in that country could very well play out. But that didn’t make her feel any better. It meant that Ann Nordquist might not be off the hook after all.

However, any further thoughts about China and Ann Nordquist ceased when Alan began talking again. “I don’t know if the destination is going to matter much when you hear the rest of Vivian’s conversation,” he said.

“Oh no.” Nancy steeled herself for what was next.

“Vivian said that there was a body going out with the shipment.”

“Barton!” Roger Gold exclaimed in horror.

“Tell me Vivian’s exact words,” Nancy instructed Alan, her heart filling with dread.

Alan tensed. “Like I said, ‘one body going out with the shipment,’ was the way she put it. Then the person on the other end of the phone must have said something. Vivian answered, ‘No, we’re going to do it right before we ship him out—silence him for good.’ ” Alan’s voice was shaking again. “The last thing I heard was, ‘Yeah, pick up at the duck house, as usual. Ten-thirty. Right.’ Then Vivian hung up.”

Nancy glanced at her watch. Nine o’clock. “What happened next?” she said, her own voice trembling. If she couldn’t find Barton in an hour and a half, she might never find him—
alive
—or find Bess either!

“I tried to sneak out,” Alan said, “but I was so freaked out about what I’d overheard that I knocked something over as I was leaving the outer office—a chair, I think. After that, I just ran as fast as I could, down the stairs and out the building. I went to the hotel and got Bess and brought her here to the club. I thought I got away clean.”

“But you didn’t tell Bess what you’d heard?” Nancy asked.

Alan shook his head. “I knew I had to tell you everything—tonight, I thought, here at the club—so I figured I’d level with Bess at the same time. Besides, I guess I wanted to put that part
off as long as possible, having Bess find out she’d fallen for a worthless bum.”

“But how did Vivian find out you knew?” Nancy asked.

Alan reddened. “Vivian looked out the window and saw me leaving. She knew she’d find me here at the concert.”

“So she arranged the power outage and had Bess kidnapped to keep you from talking?” Nancy asked, beginning to put all the pieces together.

Alan stood up, reached into the back pocket of his leather pants, and pulled out a crinkled piece of yellow lined paper. Silently, he handed it to Nancy.

She smoothed it out and read the words printed in bold, box letters.
DO NOT SAY A WORD TO ANYONE IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR GIRLFRIEND AGAIN,
the note read.

W
HO GAVE THIS
to you?” Nancy demanded, waving the note.

“Someone pulled me off stage and pressed it into my hand while the lights were out,” Alan explained.

“What I don’t get is why they didn’t just take Alan.” Roger said.

“I think they realized that if Alan vanished before this show, like Barton did before the last one, it was going to look pretty suspicious. And they wouldn’t have such an easy time explaining it the second time around.”

“I wish they
had
taken me,” Alan said. “I
didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I was so busy dreaming about how famous I’d be. If anything happens to Bess—or Barton—”

“We’ve got to find out where they’re shipping from,” Nancy put in, “and get there fast!”

“But you can’t look for her!” Alan’s voice rang out. “You promised. If they realize you’re coming after them, who knows what they’ll do to Bess!”

“Alan, think about it,” Nancy said, barely able to face the facts herself. “We don’t have any choice. You heard Vivian’s plans for Barton. If we don’t go after them, there may be two bodies going out with the albums.”

“What are we going to do?” Anguish was written all over Alan’s face.

“We’re going to get ourselves out of this madness out here,” Nancy said, determined. “And then we’re going to find that duck house Vivian mentioned.”

A few moments later, Nancy was running her index finger down the listings in a telephone book. “Duck House. Let’s see. D-U-B, D-U-C . . . Duck. The Duck’s Back, Duck Floor Coverings, Duck Sport and Leisure Shop. No Duck House.” She slammed the heavy book shut. “Any luck, George?”

George shook her head. She was bent over the yellow pages. “No pet stores with that name. Maybe duck house isn’t the
name
of the place, just a place that has duck.”

“How about stores that specialize in aquariums and water habitats?” Alan suggested.

“You’d be more likely to find goldfish there,” Nancy said.

“There are tons of pet stores listed that specialize in birds,” George said. “Not that we’d have any idea which ones to go to first.”

“Maybe we should divide up,” Roger Gold suggested. “There are enough of us to cover a pretty big area.”

With the concert postponed, the members of Bent Fender had gathered with Nancy, Alan, Ned, and George in the private office of the club manager, to try to come up with a rescue plan.

“Well, it’s true, there are plenty of us,” Nancy said, “but if we split up, I don’t see how one or two of us is going to be much of a match for a gang of killers. Besides, like George said, who knows if ‘the duck house’ has anything to do with pet shops at all? It’s just a shot in the dark.”

“But it’s the only shot we’ve come up with so far,” Alan reminded her anxiously. “Listen, there’s ‘Jungle Paradise,’ ‘Birds of a Feather,’ ‘Hot House Exotic Birds’ . . .”

“Somehow, I don’t exactly think a duck is considered an exotic bird.” Nancy’s mouth settled into a grim line.

“Or even a pet, really.” Linda Ferrare spoke up.

“The truth is, I kind of think of it as something to eat. You know, like Peking duck,” Roger Gold
put in. “What a time to be thinking about food,” he said with a rueful smile.

“Roger!” Nancy jumped out of the lounge chair she had been sitting in. “Say that again.”

“What? What a time to be thinking about food?”

“No, before that.”

“Peking duck?”

“That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it right away?”

Ned put a hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “You want to let the rest of us in on it, Nan?”

“The Duck House, the lack of copyright laws in Mainland China, James Lee.” Nancy reeled off a list of clues.

“James Lee. You mean Dave Peck’s boss?” Ned asked. “I still don’t get it.”

“Don’t you see? Mrs. Peck said James Lee had taken her and Dave to a restaurant his brother owned, right? What if ‘Lee’ is the Chinese last name. It could even be ‘Li.’ Remember, we’ve never seen it spelled.”

“You mean Dave’s boss might be the connection to China. And Ann Nordquist isn’t mixed up in all of this?” Ned asked.

“Exactly,” Nancy affirmed. “China just might be his native country, and the place where he still has black-market contacts.” She grabbed the yellow pages and thumbed through them. “All right! Roger, you did it! You hit the nail on the head! Here it is! Li’s Duck House in Chinatown!”
She clapped triumphantly. “Bess and Barton, here we come!”

• • •

Nancy got out of the cab that had sped her to the restaurant. Ned, George, and Alan got out too. Another taxi behind them dropped off Roger, Linda, Jim, and Mark.

Across the street was a four-story building. The windows of the top two floors were boarded up. The two lower floors were bright with lighted windows, through which Nancy could see diners seated at tables laden with tureens and platters of food. A deep red facade decorated the lower level, with a sign above the entrance spelling out “Li’s Duck House.” Sure enough, the L of Li’s was formed from the tail of an ornate dragon.

“That cinches it!” Nancy announced, pointing to the sign. “That L on the dragon, it must be a sort of calling card for Li and everybody who works for him. I’m sure the limo Dave was in belongs to him, too.”

She strode toward the curb. But Ned followed and caught hold of her arm. “Nan, the people who have Bess and Barton aren’t playing games. Don’t you think we should wait for the police to get here? Sergeant Wald said—”

Nancy had telephoned the police just before leaving the club and arranged for them to meet her at Li’s Duck House. She could still hear Sergeant Wald’s words ringing in her ears. “The Li gang is involved in everything from gambling
to smuggling. Watch out, kid. They’re dangerous.”

“No,” Nancy answered firmly. “We have to get Bess and Barton out of there! The sergeant and his officers will be our backup.”

“But we can’t very well waltz into that restaurant and ask them to turn Bess and Barton over,” George said sensibly.

“That’s why the rest of you are going to wait here while I go scout out the building.”

“Nancy,” Ned said sternly, “remember what you said earlier. If it comes down to one of us against a whole gang of them, it won’t be much of a match.”

“It won’t come down to that.”

“At least let me come with you,” Alan spoke up. “I was the one who got us into this mess, at least in part, so let me help you get us out.”

“Well, okay. Maybe it would be safer for two of us to go in.”

Once inside the restaurant, Nancy breathed in the warm, spicy-smelling odor, then gave a quick but thorough look around. Most of the dozen tables were occupied by diners. In the rear, the kitchen was partially visible through the windows of swinging metal doors. To one side was a flight of stairs going up and another flight going down. A sign for the restrooms and telephones hung over an arrow pointing downstairs.

“Two for dinner?” A woman approached Nancy and Alan, holding out menus.

“Oh, ah, would you mind if I used your restroom?” Nancy asked politely.

The woman frowned. “Customers only,” she said coldly.

“My uncle eats here every week,” Nancy lied. Her blood was running cold, but she flashed her warmest smile. “A tall man, gray hair and a mustache. I was here with him just last Sunday.”

The woman stood aside. “All right,” she said grudgingly, “go ahead.”

Nancy glanced at the clock located over the metal swinging doors. It was already a quarter to ten, and she had only until ten-thirty to find Bess. That left only forty-five minutes—and time was running out fast!