Moving Target (8 page)

“Do you have your key?” Nancy asked, as they walked across the hall to the room they were sharing.

George nodded. “Here,” she said, thrusting the stuffed elephant at Nancy. “Hold Charley.”

“Charley?”

“Charles Jonathan, actually. I named him after CJ,” she explained, as she took the key out of her pocket. “You know, Nan, he's really a special person.” She slipped the key into the lock. “I'll be glad to crawl into bed tonight. I'm exhausted.” She pushed open the door and flicked on the light. “Nan!”

Quickly Nancy moved past her and entered. The room was in shambles. Things were strewn on the floor and on the beds. Everything in their panniers had been dumped. Nancy's backpack had been emptied and discarded in a corner, and the pocket on George's had been ripped out.

Nancy bent over and picked up a brown paper bag on the floor by the door. Scrawled on it in heavy black ink were the words: Get off my turf!

T
HAT HAS TO BE
intended for me,” George muttered as she looked over Nancy's shoulder at the note. “And I'll bet my bike on the identity of the writer.” She pushed her mutilated pack aside and sat down on the bed, hugging Charley around the middle.

Nancy turned to face her. “George,” she said slowly. “Maybe you need to call it quits. Drop out of the bike trip. Bess could come and pick you up.”

George forced a lopsided smile. “This is not exactly a friendly greeting,” she said, waving her arm at the mess. “But, Nan, we know Kendra has both skills and experience in messing up rooms, and I'm not going to cave in to
her!
I promise I'll be careful, but I'm not going back early.”

“Okay.” Nancy sighed. She had known before
she suggested it that George wouldn't leave early. “I'm going down to the registration desk. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

“Nan, it's almost midnight. Nobody's going to be there.”

Nancy grinned at George and set her panda bear down beside her. “That's what I'm counting on,” she said. “Take care of brother bear.” She was out the door before George could answer.

Nancy quickly ran down the stairs and glanced around. Night lights were burning in the lobby. No one was in sight.

Nancy tiptoed to the desk and fumbled in her fanny pack for the small flashlight she carried on her key chain. The guest register was still open on the counter. Smoothing out the paper-bag note, she compared the writing on it to the signatures in the book. It only took a minute to confirm her suspicions. She clicked off the flashlight and hurried quietly back upstairs to room twenty-two.

George had picked up some of their things and was sitting on the bed, surrounded by her biking gear. She looked up as Nancy came in.

“What's up?” she asked.

Nancy smiled wryly. “I just ran a handwriting check on our bag here. Kendra did it. No question about it. The handwriting matches her signature in the guest register. Big swooping O's and backhand slant. She wrote the note, but I'm not convinced she trashed our things.”

“Come on, Nan,” said George. Her voice sounded tired. “She's got a history of this sort of thing.”

“I know. I'll talk to her tomorrow. Thanks for straightening up. Between us, we can pick up the rest in no time. Then let's get some sleep.”

“Best idea I've heard in the past hour,” George said.

• • •

The next morning was gray and chilly, and Nancy topped her jeans with a V-neck sweater over a turtleneck shirt. “I guess summer is really over,” she said to George, who was having trouble getting her eyes open.

“Can't you wait till morning to get up?” she mumbled at Nancy, squinting out of one eye.

“It
is
morning, silly,” Nancy said. “Get up! You'll feel better when you get moving.”

“Is that guaranteed?” George asked, stretching. Before Nancy could answer, she continued. “You look as if you're going somewhere. What's on the agenda? Besides biking, that is?”

“I'm going to have a talk with Kendra,” Nancy said. She had the door open a crack and was looking across the hall. “But I'm waiting for Jennifer to leave their room. . . . And there she goes! Save me some breakfast,” she said.

“Breakfast,” George repeated. “Food. Food! I knew there was some good reason I should be out of bed.” She jumped up and started dressing. Nancy chuckled and closed the door behind her.

Kendra was barely awake when Nancy knocked. She opened the door a crack and squinted at her. “What do you want?” she asked. She looked pale without her makeup, and there were dark rings under her eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” Nancy said.

“About what?” Kendra asked belligerently, blocking the door. “I'm not even dressed.”

“About this,” Nancy said, pulling the paper-bag note out of her pocket.

“A grocery bag?” Kendra said. “You're kidding.” She tried to shut the door, but Nancy's foot prevented it.

“No, I'm very serious,” said Nancy. “If you prefer, we can talk about it at the breakfast table, and everyone else can join in.”

Three guys from one of the other cycling groups came out of the room next door and gave a friendly wave to the girls. Nancy acknowledged the greeting and Kendra scowled. “Oh, come in,” she said to Nancy. “I'd rather not stand out here in the hall looking like a refugee.”

Nancy bit back a smile at Kendra's reference to her appearance, and reentered the room she had been in just the night before. Jennifer's bed was made, and her backpack was propped against the wall with her helmet beside it. Kendra's side of the room was a mess.

“Now, what is it you want, Ms. Detective?” Kendra snapped.

Nancy handed her the paper bag.

“ ‘Get off my turf.' ” Kendra read the words without feeling. “So why are you bringing this to me?”

“Because you wrote it,” Nancy said.

“I did no such thing!” Kendra shrieked. She balled up the paper and threw it on the floor.

“Kendra,” said Nancy, “last night while we were in town, someone vandalized our room—I mean really ransacked it—and left this note.”

“So why come to me?” Kendra asked. “There must be fifty people staying at Bannon House.”

“For two reasons,” Nancy said. “First, you have a history of trashing people's rooms, especially when you get jealous. That's why you're on probation at Emerson.”

Kendra flushed and lifted her chin defiantly. “That's a lie!” she said. “Do you believe everything you hear?”

“I believe what I hear from campus security,” Nancy replied. “And we all know that you're steaming about George and CJ. Plus your handwriting matches the writing on the note.”

“Well, I don't care what you say. I didn't write the stupid note, and I didn't trash your stupid room!” Kendra's voice kept rising as she went on. “I wasn't even here last night. I was out with Michael until after midnight. Ask Jennifer!”

“Seems as if you're getting pretty tight with Michael Kirby,” Nancy prodded.

“What's it to you?” Kendra exploded. “Now get out of here!”

“I'm leaving,” Nancy said. “But I'm warning you. If anything else happens to George Fayne on this trip, she's ready to press charges.”

“We'll see about that!” Kendra snapped. “Do you know who my father is? Anthony P. Matthews the Third. That's right! Head of the biggest law firm in this county and a candidate for senate. You keep badgering me, and he'll have your head on a plate. Now you get out of here!”

Nancy started to go, but just before she crossed the threshold she turned back. “Just remember what I said.”

Kendra slammed the door.

Nancy went downstairs and stepped out on the porch that ringed the big house on three sides. The air was crisp and cold, and the sun was breaking through the gloom, turning the dew on the leaves into sparkling crystals. What a beginning for the day! Nancy thought, as she went back inside to the dining room. The quiet, relaxing bike tour was not living up to its promise.

After a quick breakfast, Nancy excused herself to go to the game room to call the Emersonville police.

“I can't believe you're in the office on Sunday,” she said, when Lieutenant Easterling answered.

“Not officially. I'm cleaning up some paperwork,” he said. “What can I do for you, Nancy?”

“I wondered if you had recovered any of the stolen property from the other burglaries yet.”

“Nope. And Palumbo—that's Spaghetti Man's name, Stephen Palumbo—he's not talking.”

“What were some of the things stolen in the other break-ins?”

Nancy heard some papers rustling on the other end of the phone and imagined that the lieutenant was looking through a file. “Diamond rings, a fourteen-carat gold bracelet, an antique watch. The flashiest things on this list are the emeralds. Very old, very good, set in eighteen-carat gold, valued at fifty thousand. There was a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet. All square-cut stones.”

“And Palumbo hasn't talked about a fence?”

“Nope. Can't get him to say a word. He came to Emerson a few months ago from Florida. Served time there for petty theft.”

“Run me a couple of checks?”

“Sure. Name them.”

“First, Jennifer Bover. She's an Emerson student who works part-time at Ed's Diner. She's on the bike tour with us.”

“Ed's Diner? Now, that's a coincidence, isn't it? Bet she was surprised to hear that one of her co-workers got picked up Friday night.”

“She hasn't said anything about it,” Nancy said.

“Well, it was in all the newspapers,” he replied.

Nancy thought about the paper on Jennifer's bed, folded to the article about the arrest.

“Second?” Lieutenant Easterling asked.

“Remember the check on Michael Kirby?”

“Yeah. We came up with the guy in Tennessee.”

“Right. Can you contact the Florida police and find out Palumbo's connections there? Also, would you check out Michael Kirby with the Florida police, too? This could be an alias, though. His initials might be K. S. He's a Caucasian male, five-foot-ten, about one hundred and eighty pounds, muscular, curly black hair, twenty-five or so.”

“We'll give it a whirl. I'll phone down south and talk to someone who worked on the Palumbo case in Florida. The computer won't spit out much on initials alone, though.”

“I appreciate whatever you can do, Lieutenant. Oh, and will you check out his vehicle, too?” She gave him a description and the license number of Kirby's van. It was an Illinois license plate. “I'll check in with you later today.”

“Okay. If I'm not here I'll leave the information with the desk sergeant. . . . Wait, hang on a minute, Nancy. Here's the readout on Bover. . . . There's nothing. A clean sheet. Do you want me to call the campus police about her?”

“No, thanks, anyway. I don't think they'll have anything. She just started a few weeks ago.”

“Take care, Nancy,” he cautioned.

“I will. Thanks for your help.”

She hung up the receiver and walked to the bike compound. George had their things stacked
on a picnic table just outside the compound, awaiting the group's departure. All seven water bottles were lined up on one end of the table, and Kendra was filling them from a pitcher of water. She pointedly ignored Nancy as she approached, turning her back to say something to Erik.

Nancy walked over to Ned, who was just inside the compound, putting air in one tire. “I can't believe I was freezing this morning!” she said as she peeled off her sweater and tied it around her waist.

“It's warming up,” Ned agreed. “Indian summer. I just hope this lap is uneventful.”

Nancy nodded. “Did George bring you up to date on what happened last night?”

He nodded toward the far side of the compound, where CJ was carefully inspecting George's bike.

“I'm not going to let that girl out of my sight,” Nancy said.

“I think CJ's taken over in that department,” he commented.

“Then we'll all watch her,” said Nancy, following Ned into the enclosed area.

“Are you ready?” Erik called to George. He consulted a note pad as he walked over to where George and CJ were standing. “So far,” he said smugly, “I have a three-minute-and-thirteen-second lead, and that will improve on this lap. It's uphill most of the way, and with my Colorado training I'll leave you in the dust.”

“We'll see about that,” said George.

All morning the riders struggled on the hilly terrain. Erik and George were ahead of the rest, with Erik leading.

The road wound through woodland, where the golds and russets of autumn turned the landscape into a patchwork of color. Here and there, a creek would meander out to the side of the road, only to disappear again into the woods. Once, from the crest of a hill, Nancy saw farm buildings off in the distance, with rectangular sections of plowed ground stretching out on the other side, but that was the only indication of human habitation.