Island of Secrets (8 page)

“I'd like that.” She waved goodbye, headed for her moped, and rode toward home. She planned to talk to Scott again soon, now that he had opened up to her. She still needed to ask him how he got that bruise on his cheek, and why did he tense up when she asked him about the murder?

Nancy was sure he was hiding something.

What was more, the mystery of Scott and Angie's relationship had only deepened. Why
had Angie been on his boat? And why did she appear to hate Scott when he spoke of her with such affection? She decided to call Barb to see if she could remember more about their breakup.

She had just parked the moped in the garage behind the cottage when Hannah burst out the door.

“Nancy! I'm so glad you're back!” Hannah said.

“What's the matter?”

“It's Sarah! I just called her and she was crying too hard to talk. Something's happened.” Hannah buttoned up her raincoat. “I'm going over to her house right away!”

“I'll come with you!”

Hannah led the way to Sarah's old farmhouse on Corn Neck Road. Sarah answered their knock after a minute, tears running down her cheeks. She hugged Hannah. “I'm so glad you came! I didn't know what to do!”

“What happened?” Nancy asked.

“I—I was looking for a suit—you know, to bury Tom in—if we can ever schedule the funeral. And in the back of his closet, I found this!”

Sarah picked up a cardboard shoe box. Inside it was money. Lots of money. Thousands of dollars. In cash.

W
HERE DID
T
OM
get all this money?” Sarah wailed, showing the box to Nancy and Hannah. The bills were all used, tens and twenties and fifties, all jumbled together. “He had to be doing something really bad.”

“Why don't you come sit down, Sarah,” Hannah said, leading her into the living room. Nancy followed, noticing the pretty quilted pillows, hand-knit afghans, and embroidered doilies that brightened up the somewhat worn furniture.

Sarah tossed the box of money on the couch. A few bills flew into the air and fluttered to the floor. She stood staring at them. “He was such a good boy before his mother died. He was only ten, too young to be without his mama.”

“She was your sister, wasn't she?” Hannah put an arm around her shoulder.

“Yes. We all suffered when she went, but Tom most of all. If only he'd moved in with us then I could have raised him along with my own four and he would have turned out different.”

“I'm sure you're right,” Nancy said. “Why didn't he come to live with you?”

“His father wouldn't let him. Jack was a selfish man—never thought of what was best for the boy. Kept him out of school half the time to work his fishing boat. All Jack saw when he looked at Tom was an extra hand to do the work. And he drove the boy hard.”

“But how could he take him out of school?” Nancy asked. “That's against the law.”

Sarah sighed and sank down into a rocking chair. “You don't know Islanders. Fishing was our life, until the fish disappeared. All those foreign trawlers and factory ships just destroyed the fishing grounds. Most men turned to other work, but some—Jack included—wouldn't give up the sea, even when it didn't pay to go out.”

“D.J. said Tom loved boats,” Nancy commented.

“He did. He was a lonesome boy. Except for D.J., he didn't bother with friends. Boats were his life. After the sea took Jack, Tom was always looking for a spot on someone's crew. He'd do the meanest job, just to be on the water.”

“What happened to his father?” Hannah asked.

“Jack was out alone, setting a seining net. Got
his leg tangled in a line and was dragged over and down. The boat drifted until it was wrecked on Black Rock Point, so Tom lost both it and his father. I'm not sure which he minded more.”

Nancy was stunned by Sarah's last statement. Not quite sure what to say, she decided to take action. “I'd better phone the police.”

Hannah nodded at Nancy. She, too, seemed shocked. “Come out to the kitchen with me, Sarah. We'll make a nice pot of tea.”

Nancy called the station. In about ten minutes Hathaway arrived to collect the money and take Sarah's statement. He told Nancy they still hadn't found Hank, the construction worker who had hit her moped, but he was sure he'd be picked up soon.

After he left, Nancy helped Hannah fix a supper of omelets for the three of them. Afterward, Sarah let Hannah help her up to bed.

The rain had started by the time Nancy and Hannah left and it was a wet, miserable ride home.

As soon as they got back to the cottage, Nancy tried to phone Barb. There was no answer. She shrugged. Her curiosity about Angie and Scott's relationship was overshadowed by Sarah's discovery and the questions it raised about the murder case.

She took a long hot shower and went to bed. As she closed her eyes she pictured the boxful of money. D.J. must know how Tom got so much
cash, she thought, and he's going to have to tell me.

• • •

Nancy awoke to rain drumming loudly on the roof and wind shrieking around the house. Hannah made blueberry pancakes and the two of them sat in the cozy kitchen, watching the branches of a willow tree beat against the window.

“All that money,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “I couldn't get it out of my mind last night.”

“I know what you mean.” Nancy took a sip of coffee. “I'm sure the money is the key to why Tom was murdered. When I examined D.J.'s books, it was clear he makes a good profit in his business. He'd be able to pay Tom for whatever he was doing, but I don't see him murdering his best friend, unless it was a fight that got out of hand.”

“Both those boys were hot tempered, from what you've told me,” Hannah said. “And if they were in love with the same girl  . . .”

“I know, it makes sense,” Nancy agreed. “With D.J.'s hammer found at the murder scene, it seems like the police have a good case. But there's someone else I'm considering as a suspect.”

“Who?” Hannah asked.

“Scott Winchester.” Nancy told her about the visit to the yacht the day before. “So, there are
several reasons why he looks suspicious. He has money to pay Tom. He has a bruise on his face, and we know Tom was in a fight. And apparently he's the last person to be seen with Tom before he was killed. But most important, I'm sure he was hiding something when I asked him about the murder.”

“Still, why would he kill Tom?” Hannah asked. “You always say look for the motive.”

“I don't know the answer to that yet,” Nancy replied. “But I'm going to find out.”

“Maybe it's connected to this strange business with Angie,” Hannah said. “But she's such a sweet girl, I'd hate to think she's involved in this.”

“I feel the same way.” Nancy put down her cup and stood up. “The first thing to do is talk with D.J., then I'll question Scott again.”

“I wish you wouldn't go out in this storm,” Hannah said. “This weather could drown a duck.”

“I have to talk to D.J. in person. I know he won't tell me anything over the phone.” Nancy put on her slicker.

“It isn't safe out there. Just look how that wind is blowing!” Hannah pointed at the window.

“I'll be careful,” Nancy promised. “And I'll be back soon—I'm not going far.”

She saw little traffic as she rode toward D.J.'s barn off West Side Road. The streets were slick, and the gusty wind threatened to blow her moped
off the road. The storm was rapidly turning into a gale.

When she reached the barn, she was surprised to see that D.J. wasn't home. The only other place she could think to look for him was at the construction site. He might have gone out to check on the house and the tarps they had tied on. Driving slowly, she made it safely out to the Winchester place. The isolated, half-finished house was ominous on such a bleak day.

At first glance she thought the site was deserted, but then she spotted deep tire tracks in the mud. Taking a closer look, she realized they hadn't been made long before. She followed the tracks and found a pickup truck parked behind the house.

Nancy got off her moped and found a spot where she could slip under the blue plastic tarp that covered the house. She stepped into a large empty room. The light that filtered through the blue-covered windows was eerie, and the wind whistled in every crack and corner.

“Hello,” she called. “Anyone here?”

Heavy footsteps sounded overhead. “Who is it?” a deep voice said.

“It's Nancy Drew. Is that you, D.J.?”

“Stay there. I'm coming.” The footsteps thudded across the ceiling, then down the raw wood staircase at the end of the room. Gradually D.J. Divott came into view. “What do you want?” he asked rudely.

“We need to talk, D.J.” Nancy's heart beat a little faster as the huge, scowling man approached her. In spite of her resolve, a thought popped into her mind—this is a man who is suspected of murder, and I'm all alone with him. She took a deep breath. “D. J., please listen to me. I know you were a good friend of Tom, and I respect you for wanting to keep his secret—”

“Are you playing Little Miss Detective again?” He sneered. “I told you before—
give it up.
Tom was my buddy and I'm not ratting on him!”

Nancy thought a moment. D.J. was one stubborn, stiff-necked Yankee, as Barb had said. She had to find a way to break through his misguided loyalty to his dead friend. D.J. was strong and tough. Nancy decided to play by his rules. She would be strong and tough, too. The tactic might backfire, but she'd give it a try.

“Did you murder Tom Haines?” she asked flatly.

“No!”
D.J. bellowed, his voice echoing in the empty room.

Nancy refused to be intimidated. “Then why was your hammer found near the grave?”

“I already told the police! Why doesn't anyone believe me? I lent that hammer to Tom months ago! He must have taken it with him, thinking he was walking into a trap.” D.J.'s voice turned bitter. “And he did.”

Nancy folded her arms across her chest. “I'm almost sure that the person who killed him is the
same one who was paying Tom all that money he was flashing around. Don't you understand? If you don't talk, you could be protecting the murderer.”

D.J. laughed. “I know who the murderer is!”

“You do?”

“Sure, and I told the police, too. He was the last person to see Tom alive and they know it. Of course they won't do anything about it, not with a rich, powerful daddy protecting the little wimp.”

“You mean—”

“You'd better believe it!” D.J. shouted. “Scott Winchester killed my best friend!”

W
HY ARE YOU SO SURE
Scott murdered Tom?” Nancy asked. She shivered in her damp clothes in the empty, cold room.

D.J. scowled. “Lots of reasons. I saw them together Friday night, leaving the Spotted Dog about nine o'clock. They didn't notice me—I was in the pickup and it was dark. They rode off, Tom following Scott, and that was it. I never saw Tom again.”

Under D.J.'s anger and bitterness, Nancy heard despair. She remembered Barb's words—“Inside he's really hurting.” She spoke quietly. “That's not conclusive evidence.”

“That's what the police said.” D.J. rubbed his chest as if it ached. “They even suggested I was making it up to throw suspicion off myself.”

“Were you?” The same thought had occurred to Nancy.

“No!”
D.J. picked up a chunk of scrap wood and threw it across the room. “Why doesn't anyone believe me! I know Scott did it!”

“But why would he?” Nancy said.

“Because he was blackmailing Scott!” D.J. groaned as soon as he realized he'd blurted out Tom's secret.

Blackmail, Nancy thought. So that's how Tom got so much money.