A Date with Deception (8 page)

With almost no other traffic, Nancy knew it wouldn't take her long to reach the village. The
village had lights. If the car stayed with her, she'd be able to get a good look at it. Right then it was nothing but headlights.

The driver must have had the same thought, though. Just before Nancy reached the village, the tail dropped way back.

Okay, Nancy thought. Now we'll find out if this is a game or not. She pulled up at the stop sign, then inched slowly forward. Checking the rearview mirror every second, she wanted to see the other car when it pulled up to the stop sign. At least she'd be able to see what color it was. But the car kept its distance.

Nancy decided to try a new tactic. She gunned the Honda and whipped it around the first corner she came to. Still going as fast as she dared, she turned onto another street, stopped, made a U-turn, and drove back to the corner. She pulled over to the side, parked, and turned off her headlights.

In a second she heard the car screech to a halt. It was at the stop sign.

A few seconds more, and she heard it coming down the street she was facing. It had slowed down, and Nancy knew it had lost her. Now all she had to do was wait.

She didn't have to wait long. In a few seconds a dark car came into view. It was inching along, and as it passed under the outside lights of a bait and tackle shop, Nancy had a perfect view of the driver's face.

The driver was Dmitri Kolchak.

B
ESS 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.