Sweet Revenge (10 page)

“Oof!” Groaning, Nancy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Bess, what's going on?” she mumbled groggily. “Did you just win a million dollars or something?”

“No, but listen to this! I woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. So after I took a shower, I decided to call the hospital and see how Brock's doing. He's off the critical list! He can even have visitors today! So what are we waiting for?”

George came stumbling into the room in her red T-shirt. “Only one thing could make you so happy, Bess,” she said, yawning and ruffling a hand through her short brown curls. “Jake's asked you to marry him.”

“Jake? Who cares about Jake?” said Bess, waving away the notion. “I'm talking about
Brock,
George! He's well enough to have visitors! Nancy was just saying we should get over there right away,” she added. “I even got Brock's room number. Four twenty-four.”

With a resigned sigh, Nancy threw off the covers and got out of bed. “Actually, I never said that, but I do think we should head over there,” said Nancy.
“After
breakfast.”

• • •

Oakwood Hospital turned out to be tiny—so tiny that when Nancy mentioned the purpose of their visit at the reception desk, the receptionist asked, “Are you Nancy Drew?”

“Uh, yes, I am,” she answered, a bit taken aback. “How did you know?”

“One of the police officers who was here earlier—Ullman, I think his name was—said it would be okay for you to visit Brock even though you're not a member of the family.” The young woman glanced sternly at Bess and George. “He didn't say anything about your friends, though.”

“Oh, but we've got to see him!” Bess wailed.

“My associates usually accompany me for every facet of an investigation,” Nancy said quickly in her most official-sounding voice.

The receptionist wouldn't bend the rules, though. Taking the pass the young woman gave her, Nancy took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

“Let's see,” Nancy murmured aloud, scanning the room numbers as she went down the hall. “Four eighteen—four twenty— There it is.”

Brock's room was at the end of the hall. To Nancy's surprise, there was no police officer standing guard outside. Someone was fumbling with the door handle, though—a heavyset man in a lab coat. He half turned at Nancy's approach.

Nancy gasped. It was Dan Avery!

I've got to stop him! an inner voice screeched. He's sneaking in to finish Brock off!

M
R. AVERY
! What are you doing here?” Nancy demanded.

Horror filled Dan Avery's face as he turned and recognized her, but he didn't stop to answer. Whirling around, he fled rapidly down the corridor.

Nancy dashed after him. Farther down the hall she glimpsed a burly police officer ambling toward Brock's room with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

“Stop that man!” Nancy shouted, pointing at Dan Avery. “He was breaking into Brock Sawyer's room!”

Startled, the officer halted in his tracks—and in that split-second of indecision, Dan Avery scrambled left down a staircase and disappeared.

Biting off a cry of frustration, Nancy raced
down the hall herself. At the top of the stairs she slid on a slippery patch of floor, nearly colliding with the police officer.

“Hey!” he yelped in pain as scalding coffee spilled onto his hand.

Nancy didn't stop—she continued her race down the steps after Avery. Over the thudding of her heart, she could hear his footsteps pounding down the staircase below her.

Then she heard a woman's voice shouting, “No! That's an emergency exit!”

Too late. Avery had already crashed the emergency door open and gotten away. The shrill beeping of the security system was activated instantly. A moment later Nancy could hear the door slamming shut. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Avery was gone.

“Oh, no!” Nancy groaned aloud. “I can't believe it!”

“I saw him, miss! I got a good look at him!” A middle-aged woman wearing a pale blue uniform and carrying a can of disinfectant came rushing up to stand at the second-floor landing. “He was a heavyset man, kind of balding,” she called to Nancy. “He seemed to be in an awful hurry.”

Just then the police officer came skidding into view, panting from exertion. “Just what do you think you're up to, young lady?” he gasped. Then he yelled over his shoulder, “Can't someone please switch off this ridiculous noise?”

A couple of seconds later the security system fell silent.

“Now,” the officer began again, glaring at Nancy. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I caught that man trying to break into Brock Sawyer's room,” she explained. “I think he may be the person who poisoned him.”

The police officer—his name tag read Officer Webley, Nancy noticed—gave her a long, dubious look. “And what's
your
connection with Mr. Sawyer?” he asked skeptically. “Fan of his, are you?”

“I'm a private detective.” Nancy quickly filled the officer in on her involvement with the case so far. “I haven't seen Dan Avery in the inn since yesterday,” she finished. “Whatever he's up to now, it couldn't possibly be good for Brock.”

“Well, let's not jump to conclusions,” said Officer Webley in a patronizing voice. “Maybe you got mixed up. Whoever you saw going into Mr. Sawyer's room probably works here at the hospital.”

“A hospital employee wouldn't run away,” Nancy pointed out, trying not to lose her patience. “Anyway, why wasn't there a guard stationed at Brock Sawyer's door? That's pretty loose security for a celebrity like him, isn't it?”

Officer Webley was suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh, I'm supposed to be the guard at the door,” he admitted. “I just stepped away for a second to get a cup of coffee. I—uh—I'll check into your story, miss, okay?”

“Okay. But I need to speak to Brock Sawyer, before any more time goes by,” she said, showing him her pass.

“Well, I guess a short visit couldn't hurt,” the officer said reluctantly after examining the slip of paper.

“Great,” said Nancy. “Thank you very much. Oh, and my two associates will be joining me,” she added.

“Your associates? Where are they?” Officer Webley looked around as though he expected to see them in the stairwell.

“Down in the lobby waiting for me,” Nancy replied. “Why don't you come with me, so you can clear our visit with the receptionist there?”

They found Bess and George looking immensely bored as they scrutinized the gift-shop window in the reception area.

“Is Brock really going to see us?” Bess asked a few minutes later. Officer Webley had spoken with the young woman at reception, and the four of them were riding the elevator back up to the fourth floor. “This is so cool!”

Behind Officer Webley's back, Nancy gave Bess's arm a warning squeeze. “I'm sure he'll be glad to help us with our
investigation,”
she said meaningfully. “And I've promised the officer that we won't stay long.”

Nancy was relieved that Officer Webley decided to station himself outside the door rather than join them in the room. Otherwise he might have started wondering exactly what kind of a detective Bess was.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Bess cooed, practically flying over to Brock's bedside. “Do you still hurt anywhere? Gosh, it's great to see you again!”

Brock was a little pale, but other than that he seemed to be back to normal. He grinned at Bess from his pile of pillows. Then he waved at Nancy and George, who were pulling over some chairs. “With such a charming cheering squad, it's impossible not to feel better. How are you all doing? And how's Samantha?”

Bess's smile flickered a little. “She's fine. Worried about you—but of course she's got a lot on her mind.” Bess's tone somehow managed to convey the suggestion that Samantha was too busy to be thinking much about Brock. “What with this fire and all, she's really—”

“What fire?” Brock cut in. He propped himself up on his elbows, concern making his features look even more rugged than usual.

Nancy filled him in. “Samantha has asked me to investigate the case,” she finished. “That's why I wanted to talk to you as soon as I could. We've got to figure out who might want to kill you, Brock.”

He leaned back dejectedly against the pillows again. “It sounds so weird to hear you say that,” he said. “Until a couple of days ago I didn't know I had any enemies, let alone one who wants me dead! I mean, what could I have done to make anyone so angry?”

“Well, there's something your father did that might have made Mrs. Tagley very angry,” Nancy said hesitantly. “Do you know about that?”

“I do, and believe me, I'll never forgive my father for treating another human being that way,” he said sincerely.

“But I've already talked about my father with Mrs. Tagley,” Brock went on. “About two years ago—at the end of the summer I was dating Samantha—Sam's mother and I hashed the whole thing out.”

“You did?” Nancy asked, arching a brow. “She didn't mention that to me.”

Brock shrugged. “Maybe that's because she and I agreed to put the whole business out of our minds. It was a terrible thing, but it's over now. I may not be Mrs. Tagley's favorite person, but I'm sure she doesn't hate me enough to poison me.”

Nancy mentally flipped through her list of suspects. “What about Tim?” she asked.

A dark look came into Brock's blue eyes. “If I had to put money on anyone, I'd pick Tim as the culprit,” he said slowly. “You saw that fight we had, but you haven't seen all the little ways he's tried to provoke me. Making fun of me under his breath, intercepting my phone messages, sending room service to my bedroom at four in the morning. Nothing you can really get mad about, but it's been a real drag. I don't want to sound paranoid, Nancy, but Tim's been against me all along.”

“And Jake?” asked Nancy. “There's some evidence that points to him.”

Brock was startled. “I thought he was on my side. He's been really nice and polite.”

“What about Dan Avery?” asked George.

“Who?” asked Brock blankly.

“A guest named Dan Avery,” Nancy explained. “I caught him trying to break into this
room half an hour ago. You must have seen him around the inn.”

“He's hard to miss,” Bess added. “Stumpy-looking, with greasy hair and beady little eyes. Sort of like a sleazy woodchuck.”

“Sounds charming,” said Brock, chuckling. “I can't wait to meet him. But I don't think I
have
met him yet. Never even heard of him. And I certainly have no idea why he'd want to kill me.”

“Well, thanks for your help. We're glad you're better, at least,” said Nancy, straightening up. She'd been hoping to come up with more leads, but Brock hadn't added much to what they already knew. “Did you eat or drink anything unusual the night you were poisoned? The chocolates came up clean, you know, so you must have taken the poison in some other food.”

“I can't really think of anything,” Brock said, shaking his head. “I had exactly what Sam had. In fact, she brought me my plate of food from the buffet line. I was afraid that I'd pig out if I went up there myself.”

Nancy, Bess, and George exchanged a quick glance. What Brock had just told them was more important than he realized. If Samantha was the last person to handle Brock's food before he ate it, the finger of suspicion pointed very strongly in her direction now.

But Nancy didn't think she should mention this detail aloud—not until she had more to go on, at least. There was no point in upsetting Brock unnecessarily. “Thanks again for your help” was all she said.

“And we'll come to see you again very soon,” Bess added eagerly.

• • •

“This case is turning out to be tricky,” said Nancy as she and her friends walked out to the parking lot. “I haven't been able to narrow down our list of suspects at all.”

“You've never blown a case yet, Nancy,” George reminded her. “I'm sure you'll turn up something. You always do.”

“Well, I wish I knew where to turn next,” Nancy said, half to herself. The three girls had almost reached the row where Nancy's Mustang was parked. “It all seems so—”

Nancy stopped in her tracks. “Look!” she gasped, pointing across the parking lot. “There's Dan Avery!”

He was just unlocking a car door.

“We've got to catch him!” Nancy cried. She and George took off across the lot at the same time.

“This time, he's not going to get away!”