Out of Bounds (8 page)

“I talked to him late last night,” said George. “He said he wants to see me, but I don't know. After what you just told me about the way he acted at football practice—”

“Try to find out what's eating him, but be careful, okay? He seems to have a pretty mean temper,” Nancy told George.

“Don't worry. I don't intend to get him mad,”
George said with a smile. “What should I be looking for?”

“I don't know,” Nancy said, biting her lip.

“Look, Nancy, I'm not going to spy on Bill,” Bess protested. “I mean, it's okay for George, she just met Lonnie—but I really like Bill!”

“Who asked you to spy on Bill?” Nancy asked. “There is something you can do to help, though.”

“Oh, brother. What is it?” asked Bess with a friendly smirk.

“How about throwing a party for the Bears after the game on Wednesday? I have a feeling we could learn a lot from them about Pete.”

“A party? Sure!” Bess chirped, delighted with the plan. “That sounds great! Just leave it to me.”

• • •

The next day Nancy made the trip from River Heights to Bedford in record time. She wanted to make a good impression on Mark and show up early for her eleven o'clock shift.

Stopping for a red light not far from the restaurant, she saw a familiar-looking guy walk out of a building across the street from her. She wouldn't even have noticed him, except for his furtive movements. His shoulders hunched, head down, collar up, he was obviously trying to make himself inconspicuous. Why do people act that way when they don't want to be noticed? Nancy asked herself with a chuckle.

She took another look. It was Rob Matthews. Nancy watched as he continued to stride down the street, casting quick glances behind him,

Nancy checked out the sign on the building: West Bedford Medical Clinic—Private. Was Rob having more problems with his health? Intrigued, she pulled into a parking lot and went inside.

The West Bedford Medical Clinic was decorated with pastel watercolor landscapes and wicker furniture. A middle-aged receptionist wearing a white smock and small gold earrings sat behind a desk, typing.

Nancy glanced at a framed declaration of patients' rights that hung on the wall next to the receptionist The first right listed was that of privacy. Nancy let out a sigh. She realized she wouldn't get any information by coming right out and asking about Rob.

“Excuse me,” Nancy asked. “Is my brother still here? Rob? Rob Matthews?”

The receptionist looked up and gave her a surprised look. “He just left,” she explained.

“Oh, no,” Nancy lamented. “I was supposed to pick him up.”

“Well, he didn't say anything about being picked up. Are you sure?”

“I thought I told him I'd get him,” Nancy answered, letting her shoulders drop. “I guess we've all been so worried about Rob. How did it go today, anyway?”

The receptionist looked confused for a minute. “He wasn't here for any treatment. He just picked up his test results.”

“Yes, I know,” Nancy said, putting on a worried frown. “Were they okay?”

“Sorry, we can't give out test results, honey,” said the woman with an apologetic smile. She pointed to the sign on the wall. “Not even to the immediate family.”

“It's that bad, is it? Poor Rob—” Nancy made the most of her acting talents.

“It's tough,” clucked the receptionist. “Believe me, I know what you're going through. I had a nephew once—a wrestler. No matter what we said, he just wouldn't quit. Why do they want to do that to themselves? It's a shame.”

Nancy felt goosebumps rising on her arms. “I know what you mean,” she said, wishing she did.

“Listen, you're his sister,” said the woman, her eyes sympathetic. “Can't you get him to cut it out? His liver can't take it forever, you know. They never think it'll happen to them, but it does. And liver damage can be permanent,” she added ominously.

An elderly client stepped into the clinic just then and walked up to the desk. The receptionist turned to him and gave him a form to sign.

“Well, thanks,” said Nancy, slowly retreating outside, and into her car.

Liver damage? Nancy tried to figure every
angle. As far as she knew, Rob didn't drink. But the woman in the clinic had said, “Can't you get him to cut it out?”

Full of concern for Rob and his unknown problem, Nancy turned off Bedford Avenue and pulled into Touchdown's parking lot. Through the front window, Nancy saw a red-faced Pete Shepard standing close to Edgar, whom Pete had backed up against the counter.

Nancy rushed into the empty restaurant in time to hear Pete bellowing at Edgar.

“You'd better have a good explanation for this!” the manager was shouting. “Do I have to fire every single employee in this place? How many times am I going to get ripped off, huh? I put you in charge of watching the registers, and what happens? The biggest chunk of change yet is missing, that's what!”

“But P-Pete,” Edgar stammered pathetically. “It wasn't me!”

Nancy approached the scene carefully, not wanting to incite Pete's anger by asking any questions.

“Sorry doesn't cut the mustard, Chessman!” Pete screamed. “Stop protecting people. Just spit it out—who stole the money, huh?”

“I—I don't know, P-Pete,” Edgar hedged. “Honest, I don't.”

In his terror Edgar backed off to one side, knocking over a metal dispenser of straws. The
straws scattered as if they were in a giant game of pickup sticks.

“Now look what you've done, you idiot!” yelled Pete, bending over to scoop some of them up. Nancy got to her knees and started helping, and so did Edgar.

“Sorry!” said Nancy as she accidentally bumped into Pete. She turned to look at him and caught sight of something bulky falling out of his pants pocket.

The manager must have felt the package drop to the floor because he reached down in a flash to snatch at it.

But Pete's hand wasn't as fast as Nancy's eyes. Before he could stuff the package back in his pocket, Nancy spied a small, flat silver key at Pete's foot. And clenched in the manager's hand was a fat envelope—stuffed with cash!

N
ANCY COULDN'T HELP
but stare at the envelope as Pete grabbed it off the ground and fumbled for the key. Pete glanced up at Nancy and knew she had seen the contents of the envelope. He shot her a poisonous look and stuffed the money in his jacket pocket. Clutching the key protectively with one hand, he used the other to point at Nancy.

“Mind your own business, Edwards,” he snarled. “Or you'll be sorry.”

Pete backed out of the restaurant as the others stood in stunned amazement.

“What was in that envelope anyway?” Edgar asked. “Explosives?”

Nancy ran a hand through her silky hair and blew out a deep breath. “Beats me,” she said softly.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, putting a comforting hand on Nancy's shoulder.

Thinking quickly, Nancy called upon her acting talent. “Not really,” she murmured weakly. “I hate it when people yell at me. It really upsets me.” She pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to squeeze a tear out of her eyes. “Why does Pete hate me like this?” she asked helplessly.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Pete's car screeching out onto Bedford Avenue, turning in the opposite direction from McCann's Gym. Where was he going this time? She'd give anything to find out.

“Oh, I'm sure he doesn't hate you. He's just got a lot on his mind these days,” Mark said reassuringly.

She gulped hard and put her hand to her forehead. “Maybe I'm super sensitive today because of this headache. It's killing me. I think I'm coming down with the flu or something,” she complained.

“Well, if you're not feeling well, you should take the rest of the day off,” Mark said quietly.

Convincing Mark wasn't very hard, Nancy thought. Her plan was working—if she hurried she would be able to follow Pete. “Won't you be
shorthanded?” she asked, doing her best to sound sincere.

“It's okay,” said Mark. “Pete shouldn't go around upsetting the help, you know.”

“Thanks, Mark,” said Nancy, brushing away a big crocodile tear.

Nancy walked slowly out of the restaurant. As soon as the door closed behind her, however, she raced to her car.

Traffic was heavy, and Nancy despaired of ever finding Pete's white car. In a few blocks, though, she did catch sight of him, stuck trying to turn left in a line of cars at the intersection of Main and Bedford.

Nancy finally caught up with Pete again when he pulled into the parking lot of the redbrick post office near the municipal building. Slowing down, Nancy watched as he got out of his car and trotted inside, his hand against the bulge in his pocket.

“That must have been a post office box key he was holding,” Nancy murmured to herself as she steered into a space directly across the street from the entrance. Was Pete going to put the money in a box?

When Pete came out, the bulge was gone from his pocket, and Nancy assumed she had the answer to her question. She slid down in her seat as he glanced around.

Now Nancy faced a dilemma. She could wait to see if anyone she knew showed up possibly to claim the money, or she could follow Pete to see where he was going now. She had no idea which mailbox Pete might have used, so Nancy decided she had to follow Pete.

She glanced at her watch before starting her car. It was twelve-thirty.

“Stealing from your own restaurant?” Nancy whispered. “Is that where you got the money?”

From a safe distance Nancy followed as Pete drove to a modest neighborhood on the west side of town. He pulled up in front of a small white house that needed a paint job. In front of the house was a mailbox with the name
Shepard
in large gold letters. Pete checked the mailbox and, finding it empty, went inside.

Nancy was frustrated that all she'd found out was where Pete lived. Hardly big news.

Glancing into her rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb, Nancy froze. A battered Chevy puttered down the street and parked several cars in front of her. Sliding down in the seat, Nancy peeked out as a tall, birdlike figure slid out of the car and strode up Pete's front walk.

Nancy squinted against the glare, then blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly.

Edgar Chessman!

Opening Pete's storm door, Edgar dropped an
envelope between it and the main door, then loped back to his car and drove off. The whole sequence had taken maybe twenty seconds.

Nancy knew she shouldn't, but she walked briskly up the walk and slipped the envelope out from between the doors, praying that Pete wouldn't catch her.

The envelope was sealed shut and had no address or any other writing on it. Shoving the envelope into her jacket pocket, Nancy ran back to her car to head back to River Heights.

At home she could steam the envelope open. That way if it needed to be sealed again, no one would be the wiser.

• • •

Nancy raced into the kitchen, where she filled the blue enamel kettle with water and turned the fire on under it. Then she went to the phone and dialed Bess's number.

“Bess?” she said when her friend picked up. “Can you and George come over right away?” she asked. “I think I may have found something that's going to help us break this case.”

“You're kidding!” Bess said excitedly. “I'll get George, and we'll be there in five minutes.”

The water was bubbling inside the kettle. Soon white steam was pouring out of the spout. With Hannah's kitchen tongs, Nancy held the envelope over the stream of hot vapor until the glue came undone.

Inside was a single sheet of plain white paper, folded once. The message on it was composed of glossy letters cut from magazine ads.

“You're still short five thousand,” the message said. “Have it at the post office by Friday noon, or kiss your dreams goodbye!”