Danger for Hire (6 page)

Nancy checked her rearview mirror. A hundred yards behind her a beige-colored car was
keeping pace with her. Nancy slowed down, so the car could overtake and pass her, but it didn't. She shrugged and returned to her thoughts.

A few minutes later she checked her rearview mirror again. The car was still there. It looked familiar. Hadn't a car just like it stopped behind her at a red light back in River Heights?

She sped up. The car behind her sped up, too. Without signaling, Nancy quickly braked and swung onto another road. The car behind her turned, too.

Nancy clenched her jaw and pressed down on the gas pedal. There was no doubt about it. She was being followed.

N
ANCY CONTINUED
to drive normally. She didn't want to lose this tail. She wanted to identify the person.

The road rose and dipped over a series of low hills. Nancy was pleased to spot a barn roof over the next hill. A farm was just what she needed.

As Nancy topped the rise, she jammed the gas pedal to the floor, and in a few seconds she reached the farm. Swiftly she braked and swung into the muddy yard on the far side of the barn. When she was out of sight, she
turned so that the Mustang was again facing the road.

A few seconds later the other car raced past her position. It was going much faster than before. The driver was obviously panic-stricken because Nancy was no longer in sight.

Smiling in satisfaction, Nancy gunned her engine, swung onto the road, and zoomed off the way she had come. As she topped the rise, she glanced in her rearview mirror. The other car was about a hundred yards beyond the farm, doing a hasty three-point turn in the middle of the road.

All right, she thought. The chase is on!

Nancy quickly formulated her plan. A mile later she found the spot to execute it—another farm. The dirt yard surrounding the barn was even wetter than the one at the last farm. A tractor had gouged deep tracks in the mud, she could see. Thank goodness for the previous night's rain!

Quickly Nancy drove to the far side of the barnyard and turned right. Next, she pushed open her door and slumped down in her seat. From a distance, she hoped, it would look as if she had abandoned her car and run into the barn.

Twenty seconds later the engine of the other
car grew louder. As she had hoped, it immediately swung into the far side of the barnyard—the side that was the muddiest. With luck, the other car was now hubcap-deep in the mud. She heard its door close softly.

Nancy waited a few seconds longer, to give the driver time to get halfway to the barn. Then she sat up.

She wanted to check out the driver of the other car. One good look at his face was all she needed—

It wasn't a he. With a start, Nancy saw who it was.

Brenda!

The girl was trying to tiptoe gingerly through the mud. It wasn't going well. Her leather jacket, calf-length wool skirt, and expensive-looking boots just weren't right for the job. A grimace of disgust twisted her mouth as her right boot slid ankle-deep into the muck.

As she heard Nancy's door slam, she looked panicked and started back for her car. But her feet kept sinking.

Soon Brenda gave up. She stood still—and visibly sank deeper into the mud. “Nancy, you tricked me! I thought you were inside!” she yelled.

Nancy snapped open her door and climbed
out, trying hard not to smile. “Brenda, if you want leads for your stories, why not just phone?”

Brenda folded her arms. “Oh, sure, like you'd really help me!”

Nancy finally gave in to a grin. “Maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn't.”

Brenda became indignant. “You can't stop me from reporting the news!”

Nancy shook her head. “I'm not ‘news' and you know it. You're just hoping I'll do your thinking for you. Well, from now on you can do your own thinking, Brenda.”

Brenda's jaw tightened. “I have. You're not the only girl in River Heights with a brain, you know. In fact, I even know who the insider at Hayward Security is.”

Nancy was interested. Reaching inside her car, she switched off the ignition key. “Who is it?”

Brenda walked toward her, her boots making little sucking sounds in the mud. “I think it's Hayward's vice-president, Neil Masterson,” she said. “If anyone can fiddle with the alarm systems, it's him. Plus he's got a motive,” she hinted.

Now Nancy was
really
interested. “What motive?”

“His baby daughter.”

Nancy recalled the photo on Neil's desk. What was the little girl's name? Tasha. She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Brenda finally drew near. “She has a congenital heart defect. She's had several operations.
Expensive
operations.”

“So what? Neil's medical insurance pays for that,” Nancy reasoned.

Brenda shook her head. “Only to a point. Most medical plans have a limit. I checked, and Neil has exceeded the Hayward plan's limit.”

“Are you sure?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, yes. His little girl had three operations last year. We're talking about open-heart surgery, you understand. That adds up very fast. The total cost must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

There was no way that Neil Masterson could be making that kind of money. So how was he paying the hospital bills? Nancy would have to find out.

The corners of Brenda's mouth curled smugly. “So, what do you think? Is that excellent detective work, or what?”

Nancy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Your father is a smart man. I know that, too.”

Brenda recoiled as if stung. Bull's-eye, Nancy thought. It was her father who had found out about Masterson.

“Well, thanks for the tip,” Nancy said, climbing back into her Mustang. “And good luck getting out of that mud.”

“Aren't you going to help me?” Brenda wailed.

“You need a tractor. Or maybe a team of oxen,” Nancy joked.

“Why, you—! Okay, I'll go find a farmer,” Brenda said tightly. “But before you go, get this straight: I'm going to crack this case, Nancy Drew. And I don't need any help from you!”

As Nancy roared away, she shook her head in wonder. If Brenda truly wanted to catch the insider at Hayward Security, she wasn't going to do it by tailing a detective.

• • •

Nancy drove directly to Hayward's headquarters. Neil Masterson was in a good mood when she was shown into his office.

They talked amiably for a few minutes. Then, having broken the ice, Nancy leaned back in her chair.

“By the way, I saw on your job application that you were in the army.”

“Six years,” he said proudly.

“Did you have any demolitions training while you were enlisted?” Nancy asked.

“Some—why?” His tone grew cautious.

“Just wondering. Tell me, do you watch the eleven o'clock news on TV?” she went on conversationally.

“No, my wife and I usually go to bed around ten.”

Nancy said, “So you were at home with your wife last night?”

“All night. Why are you asking?” Neil was definitely suspicious now.

“Just—”

“Wondering, yes, I know,” he finished. “Nancy, you're checking on my whereabouts, aren't you? Does this mean you suspect that
I
might be involved in the robberies?”

“I have to cover all possibilities,” Nancy said hastily.

“Where I spend my free time is my business! I don't owe an explanation to you or anyone else!” His face was red with anger. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to see some people.” Rising, he walked quickly out of his office.

Nancy was stunned. Why was Neil acting so guilty? If anything, she was more suspicious of him now than before.

Later that afternoon Cindy Larson arrived at Nancy's house. She was carrying a file folder. Her face was flushed with excitement.

“Hi,” Nancy said, pulling a second chair over to her desk. “We're going to write a profile of Stanley Loomis today,” Nancy announced.

“Good. I've already begun his,” Cindy said.

“You have?”

Cindy grinned. “He acted so suspicious on Saturday yelling at Tom over that loudspeaker and all, so today on the way over I stopped at the library and looked him up in
Who's Who in River Heights
. The Chamber of Commerce publishes it. Then I searched the indexes for the city newspapers and found some real old articles about him.”

“Anything interesting?” Nancy asked.

“He used to be a burglar,” Cindy announced.

“What!”

Cindy nodded. “That was a long time ago. He went to prison and reformed—or so he said. After his parole he went into the security business. He told his customers that he could protect them better than anyone else because he knew better than anyone else how to rob them!”

“Quite a sales pitch,” Nancy said dryly. “Good work, Cindy.”

Cindy beamed. “Anything else?”

“We need to write a profile on Tom's vice-president, Neil Masterson,” Nancy said.

“You're kidding! He lives across the street from me.” Cindy sat down. “Nancy, I can't believe he's a suspect. He's so nice! I've even baby-sat his daughter, Tasha.”

“Even so, we're starting a profile,” Nancy said grimly. “Hold on! You say he lives right across the street?”

“Uh-huh.” Cindy looked troubled.

“Can you see his garage and driveway clearly from your room?” Nancy asked.

“Yes.”

Nancy tapped her pencil on her desktop. “Fantastic. Cindy, how would you like to do some surveillance?”

“I—I guess so,” Cindy answered uncertainly.

“Good. Watch his house tonight. If he leaves, jot down the time. Also write down the time when he returns. Don't try to follow him anywhere, though. Just watch.”

“Will this prove him innocent?” Cindy asked hopefully.

“I'm pretty sure the thieves'll be working tonight. If Neil is one of them, he'll go out. If he doesn't—well, it may not prove that he's innocent, necessarily, but it will help.”

“I'll do it, then,” Cindy promised. “Boy, it sure is creepy to suspect one of my own neighbors! I feel like a traitor.”

“When you're a detective,” Nancy said, “you have to ignore your personal feelings and be objective about everyone.”

• • •

When Nancy went downstairs for dinner that evening, her father was waiting for her. She had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to talk to her about.

“I guess you saw my car, huh?” she asked in a small voice.

Carson nodded gravely. “I did. Would you like to tell me what happened?”

She told him.

Carson wearily rubbed his eyes. He was still in his business suit and looked tired. “Nancy, it isn't worth the risk.”

“Yes, it is. Dad, listen—” Nancy began.

Her father cut her off with an angry wave of his hand. “No,
you
listen. I won't let you risk your life. This time you're up against professionals, Nancy—ruthless, violent men!”

“Yes, but . . .” Nancy's voice trailed off. She knew he was right.

“Nancy—” Carson's voice softened. “It looks to me like you're trying to prove something with this case. What? Does it have something to do with your young assistant?”

“With Cindy? No. What makes you think that?” Nancy asked, genuinely puzzled.

“I thought that maybe you were trying not to let her down—to be professional yourself. A professional detective, that is.”

“No, that's not it—not exactly,” Nancy said. The truth was, she hadn't felt that there was anything special about this case—until now. But now that her father had pointed it out, she realized that there
was
something different. She sighed. “I guess it started when I spoke at the Career Fair on Saturday. Remember that?”

“Uh-huh.”

Nancy went on. “Well, I hadn't realized it until now, but it got me wondering about my own career—you know, what I'm going to do with my life. I want to know what it would be like to be a real detective—a full-time,
career
detective.”

“So you decided to try it out?” Carson guessed.

Nancy nodded. “Sort of. You see, on this case I've tried to be totally professional. I've tried to treat Tom like a client.”

A smile grew on her father's face. “I understand. But, sweetheart, remember you've got plenty of time to choose your career. Years, in fact. You don't have to rush.”

“No, I don't suppose I do.” Nancy smiled, too. In a way, she felt a whole lot better thinking that. “But, Dad, now that I've started this case, I have to finish it. I'm not a quitter. You taught me that.” But would he let her continue her investigation? She held her breath while he thought.

“Okay, finish the job,” Carson said after a minute. “But promise me something—”