The Bluebeard Room (4 page)

She spoke with her mouth half full. After chewing and swallowing hastily, Bess added, “And they have all sorts of yummy-looking tidbits! Let’s nibble!”

“You’re on a diet, cuddles—remember?” George said sternly.

The swirling tide of the guest throng brought them in sight of the Crowned Heads’ drummer, Bobo Evans. Seeing the girls, he plowed a path toward them, accompanied by the synthesizer keyboardist, Adam Muir. Both, like Lance, were still in makeup.

Bobo’s moon face was wreathed in a smile. “Blimey, if it ain’t the three little dolly-birds from the garden party!” he exclaimed. “You remember that society bash on Long Island, don’t you, Adam?”

“But of course, my dear! How could I forget?” The keyboardist’s long, delicate fingers brushed Nancy lightly under the chin. “Lancelot was chatting up this lovely little redhead. And thanks to her, we were privileged to meet these other two charmers!”

Bobo came from Liverpool and sounded like Ringo Starr, but Adam’s accent was South London
cockney, spoken in a high-pitched ladylike simper.

Ned would certainly have disapproved of Adam, but Nancy couldn’t help smiling at Adam’s insouciant showmanship. She half suspected it was a carefully cultivated act à la Boy George. His face was powdered dead white, and his shiny black hair was slicked back in 1920’s movie style. A long cigarette holder dangled from one limp-wristed hand.

“We thought the show was wonderful!” Bess gushed. “You really had the audience turned on!”

“Yeah, well, that’s what turns
us
on,” said Bobo. “All the birds out there in the concert hall listenin’ to us and lovin’ us!”

“Must you go back to England so soon?”

“That’s what the king says, duckie, but if you can talk him out of it . . .!”

As Bess laughed happily, George said to Adam, “Who’s that creature in the silver jumpsuit?”

“Jane Royce, you mean?”

“Right. What’s her job?”

“Publicity. Does all our advance promotion. Acts as producer, too, for some of our records when Lance doesn’t feel like doing it personally.”

“So that’s it.” George shot an acid glance across the room at the silver-suited young Englishwoman. “She came on as if she was the Crowned Heads’ housemother and boss-lady.”

Adam tittered in delight, one hand on his hip. “My dear, you don’t know the half of it! She’s the Queen Mum herself! Oh yes, indeed—quite the power behind the throne is our Janie!”

Nancy was not exactly pleased to think of Jane Royce having any control over Lance Warrick, but tried not to show it.

Bess headed back to the refreshment table with Bobo. And Adam was accosted by a feature reporter who drew him away to face the lens of a news photographer. Adam insisted on bringing George along on one arm to pose with him.

George balked at first, fearing she might, in her own words, “look silly.” But Adam smoothly overrode her reluctance. Nancy was glad to be left alone to relax and collect her thoughts.

The respite was brief. Feeling a hand on her arm, Nancy turned—and caught her breath as she found herself face to face with Lance Warrick! Her heart gave a sudden lurch.

“Nancy, my sweet! What a charge I got out of seeing you down there in the front row! A vision of loveliness with those red-gold locks!”

It was hard not to smile with pleasure at such words. He went on, “And what a gorgeous surprise! Positively lifted my performance to new heights! I’d no idea you were a rock fan, much less a fan of mine, especially after that brush-off you gave me at the garden party!”

Nancy’s smile gave way to bewilderment.
“I . . . I don’t understand. Didn’t you expect me to use those tickets?”

“What tickets?”

“The ones you sent.”

“Me?” It was Lance’s turn to look blankly bewildered. “I never sent you any tickets . . .”

Seeing the startled, dismayed expression that flickered over Nancy’s face, the rock star groped for a way out.

“Well now, look, luv! The gang all knew what a terrific impression you made on me. I reckon one of them sent you the tickets.”

Nancy smiled politely, appreciating his tact. “Yes, I expect it was something like that. . . . Anyhow, I thought your performance tonight was out of this world! You and your group were terrific!”

“I say! Aren’t you the sweet thing to shower us with such compliments!”

Nancy felt like falling through the floor. How could she have been so vain as to think a world-famous star like Lance Warrick would go out of his way to invite her to his sell-out concert?!—as his personal guest yet!

Most humiliating of all, she’d exposed her nitwit fantasies! And now he had obviously sized her up as one more groupie candidate . . .

“This press party’s just for the vulgar mob,” Lance was saying, “but we’ve laid on a
real
celebration later on at the hotel. Your presence is expected, need I add—by royal command!”

The king of rock slipped a cozy arm around Nancy’s waist. “There’re a couple of limos standing by. The gang and I’ll sneak away as soon as the streets clear a bit and this lot here gets enough of a buzz on so they won’t notice. Meantime, why don’t you and your friends stick close to the other birds, so we’ll know where to find you when the time comes?!”

Nancy felt slightly sick. Already he was consigning her, Bess and George to the status of royal groupies.

“Thanks, but we really can’t stay much longer,” she heard herself respond. “We’ll probably be flying out of New York tomorrow, so we’d better get our beauty sleep.”

“Oh, come on now!” Lance wheedled. “What does a ravishing creature like you need with any beauty sleep?”

But Nancy merely smiled and shook her head as she slipped out of his one-armed embrace. He reluctantly let her go with a quick kiss on the cheek as other guests clamored for his attention.

Once she was out of Lance’s sight, Nancy looked around for a place to collect herself. A powder room offered the nearest refuge. As she hurried toward it, she felt her cheeks burning with shame and tears prickling her eyes.

Fortunately no one seemed to notice her unnerved state. All the other females in the powder room were too busy chattering away excitedly. Nancy found a place in front of the mirror and dashed cold water on her face.

How silly to get upset! she scolded herself. I’ll never see Lance again after tonight anyway, so what difference does it make?

She repaired her makeup deftly with a few quick strokes of mascara and dabs of eye shadow and lip gloss. As Nancy turned from the mirror to put the cosmetics in her bag, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a silver-clad figure disappearing out the door.

A faint resentment stirred at the thought that Jane Royce might have observed her distress. But Nancy had her feelings under control now and dismissed the matter with a shrug.

Outside the powder room, the press party was still in full swing.

A magazine writer recognized the famous young sleuth and waylaid her for an interview. While they chatted, Nancy’s roving glance spotted George Fayne. She was engaged in a lively discussion with
several other guests on the subject, Nancy later learned, of rock music trends.

George rejoined her when the interview was over. Together they went looking for Bess and found her still at the refreshment table. Bobo Evans, it seemed, had wandered off with the group’s bass player, Freddie Isham, but Bess had lingered to sample some chocolate strawberries which had just been added to the array of tidbits.

“Heavens, can’t we leave you alone for two minutes?” George teased. The complaint ended in a gulp of delight as Bess silenced her by popping one of the strawberries into George’s mouth.

“No more! You’ve had enough!” Bess declared sharply, rapping George’s knuckles as her cousin reached for a second helping.

Nancy doubled up with laughter.

“By the way, didn’t I see you with Lance Warrick?” Bess asked her titian-haired chum.

“You did. And he invited us to a private party at his hotel. But don’t get all atwitter, Bess dear. We’re not going,” Nancy added, seeing her friend’s china-blue eyes light up at the prospect.

Bess’s plumply pretty face fell. “Why not?”

“Because he already has us classified as groupie recruits, that’s why.”

Much of the fun seemed to go out of the party at Nancy’s revelation and, as midnight was fast approaching, the three girls decided to leave.

Half an hour later, a taxi deposited them outside the Gothic apartment building on the West Side.

“Hope we won’t have to wake your aunt,” said George. “Or will she be waiting up?”

“Probably. Aunt Eloise is sort of a night owl. But it doesn’t matter either way,” said Nancy, rummaging in her handbag. “I have a key.”

Suddenly she caught her breath and her hand seemed to freeze. Then she fished out her key and hastily closed her bag.

“Something wrong?” asked Bess.

“Yes, but let’s not talk about it now. It’s nothing to lose any sleep over. I’ll explain tomorrow morning.”

• • •

After breakfast the next day, George brought up the subject. “Are you going to tell us now what you found in your purse last night, Nan?”

The teenage sleuth nodded and rose from the table. The others followed her into the sitting room. Nancy picked up her handbag, opened it and took out a small transparent plastic bag filled with sparkling white powder.

George’s and Bess’s eyes widened, and Miss Drew gasped in dismay. “Oh no! Is that what I think it is, Nancy?”

“I’m afraid so, Aunt Eloise. But not to worry. I’ll see that it’s disposed of properly. Do you mind if a policeman comes here to the apartment?”

“Of course not, my dear. Do as you think best.”

Nancy telephoned a lieutenant in the New York
Police Department whom she had met on an earlier case. After hearing her story, he promised to send a narcotics squad detective over.

Later the phone rang. Mrs. Harwood was on the line.

“Nancy dear, you’re booked on a flight to London leaving tomorrow evening. Is that agreeable?”

“Wonderful!” Nancy enthused. “Where shall I pick up my ticket? At the airport?”

“You can pick it up this afternoon. My travel agent’s holding it for you, along with enough traveler’s checks to cover all expenses. Her office is on Fifth Avenue.” Mrs. Harwood gave her the exact address, then asked, “What about your passport, dear?”

“No problem. I brought it with me to New York. Daddy was expecting to fly to Venice on legal business and thought I might like to go along, but that’s been put on hold. I’m all set.”

Bess and George had overheard enough to guess that Nancy’s travel arrangements to London had been finalized. Both clamored for details, and Nancy found herself wishing her two girl friends could accompany her on the flight to England.

They were equally wistful. “Gee, wouldn’t it be great if we could shop at the London stores together, and take in a concert at the Palladium!” said George.

“Instead of which, we’ll be flying home to River Heights,” said Bess regretfully.

“Never mind, maybe we can make it a threesome next summer,” Nancy said hopefully.

Their chat was interrupted by the bell from the lobby. The police officer had arrived. Nancy buzzed him in, then opened the door to meet him when he stepped off the elevator. He strode toward her down the hall, a sharp-featured, steely-eyed man in plain clothes.

“Sergeant Weintraub, narcotics squad.”

“I’m Nancy Drew, Sergeant. Please come in.”

She introduced him to her aunt and friends, and invited him to sit down. “I suppose you’ve been told why I called?” she said to him.

“Only briefly. I’d like to hear it in your own words, Miss Drew.”

Nancy explained how she had found the plastic bag full of white powder in her handbag after returning from the concert. “I assume this is cocaine, or am I jumping to conclusions?”

He examined the evidence. “Nope, it’s coke, all right—high grade stuff from the looks of it. Any idea how this got in your purse, Miss Drew?”

“Someone put it there, obviously.”

“But you’ve no idea who?”

Nancy hesitated a fraction of a moment. “Not really. I suppose it could’ve been almost anyone we passed in the street or at the concert.”

Weintraub looked dubious. “People don’t usually give this stuff away. Once it’s cut and sold, this much alone could bring several thousand dollars.”

“Or several years in prison, I imagine,” Nancy said wryly, “which might be a good reason for getting rid of it in a hurry.”

The detective nodded. “Yeah, that figures. Maybe someone had to ditch it fast, and your handbag was the nearest convenient place. At this press party for the Crowned Heads that you went to, did you see anyone handle your purse?”

Nancy thought of the silver-clad figure she’d glimpsed leaving the powder room. “No, but that’s not saying it couldn’t have happened.”

“How well do you know the Crowned Heads?”

The titian-haired teenager shrugged. “Not very. We just met them at a garden party on Long Island two days ago.”

“And on the strength of that, you attended their press party last night?”

“Lance Warrick saw us in the audience and had one of the ushers bring us an invitation.”

Sergeant Weintraub frowned thoughtfully. “He didn’t by any chance invite you to the private party later on at his hotel?”

“As a matter of fact he did, during the press reception. But it was already getting close to midnight and, well, we thought it best to come on home.”

“Smart girl!”

Nancy shot the narcotics officer a cool glance. “What exactly are you implying?”

“It so happens we got an anonymous phone tip saying there’d be drugs at that party.”

Nancy was startled, as the significance of his remark flashed through her mind. “You don’t mean you
raided
the Crowned Heads’ hotel suite?”

Weintraub nodded emphatically. “We sure did, with a search warrant. If you’d been there with that bag of cocaine in your purse, you’d probably be behind bars right now, Miss Drew!”

Timing, thought Nancy, was everything. Later she wondered how differently her whole adventure in England might have turned out if she hadn’t chanced to pass that particular door at Heathrow Airport at that particular moment.