Danger for Hire (2 page)

Tom and the chief were in the glass-enclosed inner office, questioning the security guard who had been tied up by the robbers. A plainclothes detective was taking notes. Nancy, not wanting to intrude, waited outside the door.

“No, I never saw their faces,” the young guard was saying. “They were wearing masks.”

“Ski masks?” the detective asked.

“No, rubber Halloween masks. You know, the kind that pull over your whole head. Frankenstein, the Mummy . . . like that.”

“Gloves?” the chief asked.

“Yeah, cloth. Work gloves.”

“Weapons?” Tom inquired.

“Uh—long-barrel automatics.”

Professionals, Nancy thought. Eager to ask her own questions, she was glad when the chief noticed her.

“Ah, Nancy! Come in,” he said. “You're good at spotting things. Take a look around and see what you find.”

Nodding to Tom and the detective, Nancy slid inside and quickly asked, “How much was taken?”

“We're not sure yet,” Tom said. “It looks like about two hundred boxes of CDs were lifted. They backed a truck to the loading dock and moved the boxes with handcarts. The whole operation took only seven minutes.”

“I timed them on the wall clock,” the guard chimed in.

“Fast work,” Nancy commented.

“They didn't bother to blindfold me. They didn't have to,” said the guard, sounding morose.

“Because of the masks.” Nancy nodded. “How did they get inside in the first place?” she asked curiously.

“They came in through the loading bay door. All of a sudden I saw it rolling up, but by the time I got there, two of 'em had rolled underneath and had their guns pointed at me. They tied me up, and—bingo. Seven minutes later they were out of here. That was it.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. . . . How did they disable the alarm connected to the loading bay door? To turn it off you'd need a code, and I'll bet you get only one chance to input the correct code on the keypad.”

“That's right,” Tom supplied.

They all looked at the guard. He shifted uncomfortably. He was tall and athletic and quite young. Nineteen at the most, Nancy guessed. The name tag sewn on his gray uniform said “Adam Reeves.”

The police detective shot them all a warning look. He was obviously suspicious of the guard, but wanted to take it slow with him. “Okay, let's get back to the robbers,” he said. “Did they say anything to you?”

After a minute a pair of uniformed officers
entered. With them was a worried-looking woman holding a thick computer printout and a pencil.

“We've done a preliminary check of the inventory,” she said. She must be the warehouse manager, Nancy realized, called in on her day off. “There are about two hundred and twenty-five cartons of CDs missing. They seem to have picked whatever was closest to the door,” she added.

“That's strange,” Nancy commented. “You'd think they'd take only best-sellers.” Especially considering how well they planned the rest of the operation, she added to herself.

A commotion outside the office interrupted them. A patrolman was attempting to block the path of a dark-haired young woman. She was about eighteen, Nancy's age, and was angrily waving an ID card in their faces.

“I'm with the press,” she snapped. “I demand that you let me through!”

Oh, no! Nancy thought. Brenda Carlton!

Nancy could see that the teenage reporter looked as professional as ever in a tailored skirt and pumps. If only Brenda would pay less attention to her appearance and more to responsible reporting, Nancy thought wearily. Their paths had crossed often, and once too
often Brenda had come close to ruining Nancy's investigations. She had even put their lives in danger.

Dropping one shoulder like a linebacker, Brenda rudely shoved past the officer. She was firing off a rapid string of questions as she burst into the office.

Adam Reeves glanced at Tom, who shook his head. He didn't want his guard answering any questions.

“Um . . . I don't think I should comment,” Adam said.

“Chief, what about you? What steps are you taking?”

Nancy pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Brenda was such a cartoon! Of course, she thought of herself as an ace reporter. The truth was that she had a byline only because her father was the owner and publisher of
Today's Times.

The chief rolled his eyes. He was well acquainted with Brenda's blunt style. “Our investigation is continuing,” he told her. “Other than that, I have no comment.”

Brenda turned to Tom. “What about you, Mr. Hayward? This break-in is a big setback for your firm. . . .”

Nancy caught the chief's eye and inclined
her head in the direction of the door. The chief took the hint, and both of them slipped quietly into the warehouse proper.

“Chief,” Nancy said in a low voice, “if you ask me, these crooks had inside help. Someone gave them the code to that alarm.”

“Looks like it,” the chief agreed. “We'll work on that angle.”

A moment later Tom joined them, having left Brenda to Adam and the detective. “Chief, I've got a big problem,” he said with a cautious backward glance.

“I know,” the chief said. “Nancy and I were just discussing that. It will take some in-depth probing to uncover the person in your operation who helped these robbers, which is a bit beyond us right now. We've had a big budget cut.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tom said. He didn't sound bitter, however. “Looks like I'll have to do that work myself.”

The chief rubbed the side of his nose with his index finger. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” Tom said.

“Since it'll be difficult for you to be objective about your own people, why not get some outside help? I know someone who's already familiar with the case. . . .”

“You mean
Nancy?”
Tom sounded startled.

“Naturally.” The chief smiled at her. “She's got a nose for the truth, and a brain that thrives on mysteries. She'll be perfect—if she wants to take the case.”

“Oh, I do,” Nancy said quickly. She didn't have to think twice.

Tom studied her for a moment, probably wondering if an eighteen-year-old could really help him. A lot of people wondered that at first.

Finally he nodded. After all, he was not that much older than she. “Thanks, Nancy. Why not meet me at my office? I'll pull out some employee records, and we can make plans.”

Nancy smiled. She always felt great when she got a new case. “Okay. I think I'll take a last look around here first, though.”

“Sure. I've got a few details to wrap up, too,” Tom said.

Nancy walked into the heart of the warehouse. There were aisles and aisles of industrial metal shelves. Each shelf, in turn, was packed with cardboard boxes. Glued to each box was a computer-generated label that announced its contents in large letters. It was easy to see which CDs were where. Why had the robbers chosen their loot at random?

Puzzled, Nancy moved still deeper into the building. The only noise she could hear was the soft buzzing of the strip lighting overhead. It was very quiet.

Scrape.

Off to her left, Nancy heard a shoe scuff against the concrete floor. A police officer? No, they were all in the front of the warehouse, waiting for orders.

The next sound was faint—but unmistakable. Someone was walking slowly and quietly. Nancy was not alone.

N
ANCY PEERED THROUGH
the gap between two shelves, her heart beating faster. Two aisles away she caught a flash of movement. A jade-colored shirt? After slipping off her shoes, she crept ahead.

At the corner she paused and was just in time to see a lithe figure dart around the corner at the far end of the aisle.

Crouching low, Nancy took a chance and ran forward as quickly as she could. When she was halfway to the front of the warehouse, she turned left and zipped up an aisle. Good,
thought Nancy. The figure was coming toward her.

Nancy waited until the figure was only a few feet away. Then she turned the corner and stood directly in the figure's path.

“Cindy Larson, what are
you
doing here?”

“Aaagh!” With a howl of fright, Cindy scrambled backward. She struggled for balance as she stumbled into a stack of boxes. “Nancy, you scared me to death!”

Nancy suppressed a smile. “Sorry. I wasn't sure it was you at first. Now, you'd better tell me what you're doing. Do the police know you're in here?”

“Well, sort of,” Cindy said in embarrassment. “See, I really wanted to come get a look at an actual crime scene, so I came here and told the police officers that I had a message for you. They told me you were back here, and I . . . well, I felt dumb because I
didn't
have a message for you, but I wanted to watch you work anyway, so I followed you back here hoping that you wouldn't see me. I guess I didn't do a very good job of hiding, huh?”

“Of hiding, no,” Nancy said. “Of getting past the police—not bad. But you shouldn't
have made up a story. Especially when you could have just asked me to show you around.”

“I didn't think you would.”

“Oh.” Nancy felt bad for coming down so hard on Cindy. An idea came to her just then. It was perfect! “Cindy, I'm going to be helping Tom Hayward get to the bottom of this robbery. Would you like to work with me on this case?”

Cindy swallowed. “Do you mean it?”

Nancy beamed. “Sure! This is the sort of case that has a lot of legwork to it . . . you know, cross-checking schedules, getting information on the phone, that kind of thing. It'd be a lot for me to handle on my own, but with a helper—”

“Oh, this is the most exciting thing that's
ever
happened to me! Wait until I tell my friends! Of course, I'll only be able to help you after school, but don't worry, Nancy! I'll be the best assistant detective you've ever had!”

That's a tall promise, Nancy thought to herself. She was usually assisted in her cases by her two best friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne. Her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, had been in on quite a few as well. All had proved themselves to be invaluable.

“Great,” Nancy said. “Well, I'm all done here. Let's go.” After retrieving her shoes, she walked outside onto the loading dock with Cindy.

“Here's my home number,” Nancy said, jotting it down on a scrap of paper from her purse. “Now tell me yours, and we'll arrange—”

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!

The air was split by an ear-shattering burst of feedback. Nancy's hands flew to her ears.

As suddenly as the noise had begun, it stopped. Then from the loudspeakers above the loading platform across the street came a booming, gleeful voice. “So! How does it feel, Tom Hayward, you little creep! Not a lot of fun to have a client robbed, is it?”

Nancy's gaze swung across the street as Tom and the chief appeared beside her. Brenda was not far behind them.

“About time you had a setback, son. It'll make you humble. Make you think twice about taking away other people's business! I'll tell you another thing, too, Hayward—I'm glad. You're getting exactly what you deserve!”

The chief yelled, “Bates! Go find out who that is!”

“Wait,” Tom said, laying a hand on the chief's outstretched arm. “I know who it is.
It's Stanley Loomis. My main rival. Stanley's had the security business in River Heights all to himself for years—until I came along.”

“He's not happy about your success, obviously,” the chief observed.

That was the understatement of the year, in Nancy's opinion. The amplified tirade continued for a few minutes longer, and then abruptly ceased. A moment later a metal door on the opposite loading platform opened, and a portly man wearing brown slacks and a plaid sports jacket emerged.

He said nothing. He just climbed into a large tan luxury car and roared away.

“That's Loomis,” Tom said. “He overcharged his clients for years. Now I'm offering people better service at a lower price, and he resents it.”

Nancy wondered if it was possible that Stanley Loomis had arranged the robbery. Yes, she decided almost instantly. Proving it, though, was going to take some work.

• • •

That evening at dinner Nancy told her father, Carson Drew, about Tom's remark. They were sitting at the dinner table with Hannah Gruen, their longtime housekeeper, eating pot roast.

“You're right—that wouldn't have done any good,” Carson said. “Hayward's just discouraged.
This is his first big setback.”

“He's awfully young, isn't he?” Hannah remarked. “He's not used to business difficulties, I'll bet. But he'll learn. With more experience, problems like this won't bother him so much.”