Mystery at the Ski Jump (7 page)
Read Mystery at the Ski Jump Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Fur Garments, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Adventure Stories, #Hides and Skins, #Swindlers and Swindling, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #General, #Identity Theft, #Mystery and Detective Stories
“Yep. I was an old fool,” John Horn admitted candidly. “I leaped to the bait—stupid as a wall-eyed pike!”
“I wonder if she told you anything that would help us trace her,” Nancy said. “Did she mention a Dunstan Lake, for instance?”
The old man pulled at his whiskers. “No-o. Never heard that name, miss. All we chinned about was mink. I’ve worked on a mink farm and I been trappin’ the little rascals for years. That’s how I came by Arabella, here.”
From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a small, squirrellike creature with bright black eyes and a long tail.
“Why, it’s a mink!” cried Bess.
“Sure, she is!” John Horn said proudly. “Four months old and with as prime a pelt as I ever seen. Notice that glossy dark-brown fur? See how thick and live-looking the hair is? Arabella’s an aristocrat. Yes, sir-ree!”
“Is she tame?” George asked.
“She’s tame because I raised her myself,” explained John Horn. “A wild mink, though, will bite—and his teeth are plenty sharp.”
“Where did you get her?” Nancy asked.
“Arabella was born on a mink ranch. The first time I saw her she was a pinky white and not much bigger than a lima bean. All baby minks are like that. Tiny and covered with silky hair.”
John Horn gave his pet an affectionate stroke and replaced her in his pocket. “You want me to help you catch that crook, don’t you, Miss Drew?” he said.
Nancy had no such thing in mind. However, if the fur company was located in the Adirondacks, as Aunt Eloise believed, it would be handy to have an experienced woodsman around.
“Mr. Horn, I may need your help if I have to travel up north or into the mountains,” she said.
“You can count on me!” said the old man.
“Excuse me, Nancy,” said Hannah from the doorway. “I thought perhaps these folks would like some hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.”
At the sight of the older woman, John Horn became ill at ease. “No, thank you, ma‘am,” he said hastily. “Fact is, I gotta be goin’.”
“We’ll drive you,” Bess offered.
“No. No, I’d rather walk.” The old trapper turned to Nancy. “I like you, girl. You—you talk sense,” he stammered. “Here—take this!”
Nancy felt something warm and furry wriggle in her hands. Startled, she gasped and stepped backward, dropping the little mink to the floor,
Arabella instantly leaped away, straight toward the astounded Hannah. The housekeeper clutched at her skirts and hopped onto the nearest chair. “A rat!” she shrieked.
“It’s a mink,” Nancy said. She reached down and tried to catch the little animal.
“It’ll bite!” Hannah warned. “Like a rat!” Arabella was terrified by the strange surroundings and the squeals of Bess and Hannah. The tiny animal scuttled frantically here and there in search of a hiding place.
John Horn held up one hand. “Quiet, everybody! You women stay put! And cut out that yammering! You’ll skeer my poor pet to death!”
The trapper located Arabella crouched in a corner of the entrance hall. He spoke to his pet softly as he approached. Then, kneeling, he took the mink into his arms.
Just then the doorbell rang. Nancy opened the door to a well-dressed man of middle age.
“How do you do?” he said. “Is this a bad hour to call? I’ve rung several times.”
“I’m sorry,” Nancy said. “We were chasing an escaped mink and we—”
“A mink?” The stranger stared at Nancy.
She blushed and pointed to the little animal nestled against John Horn’s chest. “It’s a tame mink,” she said.
“I see,” said the newcomer, still bewildered. “I’m Mr. Nelson from the Bramson Film Company, and I’d like to speak with Miss Nancy Drew.”
“I’m Nancy Drew. Please come in and sit down in the living room. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
The man walked inside and Nancy turned to the trapper. “I’d love to keep Arabella,” she said, “but I think she’d be happier with you. Besides, we have a dog here. That might make trouble.”
Horn nodded, tucking the mink back into his pocket. “My offer to help catch that crook is still good.”
Nancy smiled. “I’ll call on you.”
The cousins departed with Arabella and her master, who rode away in the back seat of Bess’s car. Evidently he had changed his mind about walking!
Nancy entered the living room and sat down.
“Miss Drew,” said Mr. Nelson, “I understand that you want to find Mitzi Adele. Just how close a friend of hers are you?”
“Friend?” Nancy shook her head. “Not a friend.”
After she had told what she knew of the woman, Mr. Nelson’s voice became more cordial. “I’m glad you told me this, Miss Drew,” he said. “Frankly, we thought you might have been mixed up in Mitzi’s dealings. A few years ago Mitzi stole several valuable costumes from the Bramson Film Company. We’ve been looking for her ever since.”
“Do you know where she came from?” Nancy asked.
“Her home was in northern New York State. Somewhere near the Canadian border. That’s all I know about her.” After a little more conversation, the caller left.
Nancy went to the kitchen to tell Hannah what she had learned. “Now I must go to Montreal,” she said. “In fact, I’ll leave this evening if I can get a train reservation.”
Nancy secured a compartment on the late express and sent a telegram telling her father the hour she expected to arrive. Hannah helped her pack, and went with her in a taxi to the railroad station.
Next morning Nancy looked out the window eagerly as the train pulled into the Montreal station. She hurried down the steps into her father’s arms.
“Nancy! I’m so glad to see you!” he cried, taking her skis.
“I’m twice as glad to see you,” she replied.
“How goes the great fur mystery?” Mr. Drew asked as they followed a porter to the taxi stand.
“I’m stymied, Dad,” Nancy admitted.
“Well, sometimes a change of work helps. Suppose you give me a hand. A young man, Chuck Wilson, is my client here. I’m puzzled about him and I’d like your opinion. If you can, get Chuck to tell you about his case himself.”
Nancy smiled. “When do I go to work?”
“You’ll meet Chuck in an hour. I told him we’d be at the ski jump of the Hotel Canadien, where I’m staying.”
“I’ll have to go to the hotel first and put on ski clothes,” Nancy said.
The hotel, a few miles out of the city, nestled at the foot of a majestic hill. Nancy was shown to her room, where she dressed in a trim blue ski outfit. Then she and her father went out to a nearby ski slope and ski jump. As they approached the foot of the jump, a man prepared to descend it.
The skier waited for his signal. An instant later he came skimming downward, fast as a bullet, only to rise into the air, soaring like a bird, with arms outstretched. He made a perfect landing.
“Good boy!” cried Mr. Drew.
“That was beautiful!” Nancy exclaimed. “I wish I could jump the way he does.”
“That’s my client—perhaps he’ll give you some instruction,” said Mr. Drew. “Chuck—Chuck Wilson—come over here!”
The slender youth waved. He stomped across to them, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight.
After Nancy’s father had completed introductions, Chuck asked, “Do you ski, Nancy?”
“Yes. But not very well.”
“Perhaps I can give you some pointers,” Chuck suggested eagerly. “Would you like to come and ski with me?”
“A good idea,” Mr. Drew agreed. “I’ll leave my daughter with you and get back to work. Take good care of her!”
“I sure will!” the young man answered in a tone that made Nancy blush. They waved good-by to Mr. Drew. Then Chuck Wilson seized Nancy’s hand and pulled her toward the base of the jump. “I must see this next jump,” he said.
The skier made a graceful take-off. Then something went wrong. The man’s legs spread-eagled on landing and one ski caught in the icy snow, throwing him for a nasty spill.
The watching crowd gasped, then was silent. A spectator, a short distance away from Nancy and Chuck, rushed toward the man. “You idiot!” he yelled. “What will happen to Mitzi if you kill yourself?”
Hearing the name Mitzi, Nancy elbowed her way quickly through the crowd. She was too late. By the time she reached the spot, the unfortunate jumper and his friend had disappeared.
“Why did you run off?” Chuck asked as he reached Nancy’s side.
Nancy apologized. “I’m looking for someone. Can we go to the ski lodge? Perhaps he’s there.”
“Okay,” Chuck said, leading the way.
The lodge was crowded with skiers but the men were not inside. Nancy asked Chuck if he knew the skier’s name.
“No. But say, would his initials help?”
“Oh yes ! Where did you see them?”
“On his skis—if they were his. Big letters.”
Nancy’s heart skipped a beat. “What were they?”
“R. I. C.”
Nancy’s spine tingled as if someone had put snow down her back. Could this be Mitzi Channing’s husband? And the other man—was he, perhaps, Sidney Boyd?
CHAPTER IX
A Disastrous Jump
CHUCK WILSON chatted cheerfully as he and Nancy went up the chair lift to the station where they were to begin their ski lesson. But Nancy’s thoughts were far away. She kept wondering about R. I. Channing and whether her hunch was correct. Was Mitzi Channing’s husband really in Montreal? Was he the mystery jumper?
“Maybe I should have tried harder to find him,” she chided herself.
The ski instructor noticed her faraway look. When they reached their destination, he said:
“Time for class! Suppose you take off from here. I want to watch you do parallel turns down the practice slope.”
Nancy gave a quick shove with her poles and glided away.
“Not bad. Not bad at all!” Chuck called as she completed her trial run. “You have self-confidence and a fine sense of balance. Have you ever done any wedeln?”
“Yes,” Nancy admitted. “But not very well.”
“We can try some steeper slopes tomorrow,” her companion said, smiling. “You shouldn’t have any trouble. Now take another run. Remember always to lean away from the hill. Keep your skis together all the time. You need more of what the French call—abandon.”
“Abandon?”
“You know—relax.” Chuck smiled. “Bend your knees, keep your weight forward. You have a natural rhythm. Use it when you wedeln. It is just half turning in rhythm all the way down the hill.”
When the lesson was over, Nancy turned to her instructor. “Thanks for everything,” she said. “Tomorrow I’d like to try some jumping. But now I mustn’t take any more of your time.”
“My time is yours,” Chuck said. “I have no more lessons scheduled for today.”
Nancy was pleased. Perhaps she could get Chuck to forget skiing and talk about himself.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight,” he said, “and perhaps go dancing.”
Nancy hesitated. The young man read her mind. “If your father would care to come—”
“Suppose I ask him,” Nancy replied. She liked Chuck Wilson.
“Then it’s settled,” Chuck said. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel now and be on hand again at six-thirty. Or is that too early?”
“Six-thirty will be fine,” Nancy agreed.
Mr. Drew was pleased when Nancy told him that Chuck Wilson had invited them to dinner, but he said that he would not go along.
“I’d rather have you encourage him to talk without me there,” he said. “Sometimes a young man will talk more freely to a girl than to his lawyer. I feel Chuck has been holding something back. See if you can find out what it is.”
Promptly at six-thirty Chuck walked into the hotel lobby and greeted the Drews. He expressed regret that Mr. Drew was not joining Nancy and him.
“Your daughter can become a very fine skier, Mr. Drew,” Chuck observed. “All she needs is practice.”
“I’ve no doubt of it.” The lawyer smiled proudly. “But I guess Nancy will always be better on ice skates than she is on skis. She was fortunate to have a very fine teacher. I sometimes thought he might encourage her to be become a professional!”
“Why, Dad, you’re just prejudiced,” Nancy protested.
“If you like skating,” Chuck spoke up, “how about going to see an exhibition that’s being held here tomorrow night? I’m going to skate. If you could use two tickets—?”
Mr. Drew shook his head. “I’m afraid Nancy and I won’t be here, my boy. Thank you, though. And now, I must leave you two.”
Nancy wondered if her father’s decision to depart from Montreal had anything to do with Chuck. Mr. Drew had said nothing about their time of departure. In any case, she had better get started on her work!
It was not long before Nancy and Chuck were seated in an attractive restaurant. “Chuck,” she said, “have you skated professionally very long?”
“Several years.”
“Did you ever hear of a Mitzi Adele?”
“No, I never did. Is she a skater?”
Before Nancy could reply, the orchestra started a catchy dance number. Chuck grinned, rose, and escorted her onto the floor.
Nancy had never danced with a better partner. She was thoroughly enjoying it when suddenly Chuck seemed to forget he was on a dance floor. The musicians had switched to a waltz and Chuck became a skater.
He gave Nancy a lead for a tremendous side step backward which strained the seams of her skirt. Then he lifted her from the floor as if to execute a skating lift.
“Chuck thinks he’s skating,” Nancy said to herself.
But with a laugh he gracefully put her down again, continuing to dance. “What next?” she wondered.
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