The Case of the Photo Finish (11 page)

“You mean they figured, Where there's smoke there's fire?”

Barbara nodded again. “Something like that. It's not what you'd call strong evidence, but—”

“Every bit helps,” Nancy said. “Do you think I could talk to your reporter friend myself and get more details?”

“There's no point,” Barbara said. “He told me everything he remembered, which wasn't any more than I just told you. Oops,” she added, looking over Nancy's shoulder. “There's somebody I have to talk to. Sorry to rush off, but I'll see you later.”

She stood up and walked quickly away before Nancy could ask her anything more. Nancy leaned back in her chair, frowning. Why was Barbara so reluctant to let Nancy talk to the sportswriter for herself? Was it just a matter of keeping her sources private? Or was it possible that Barbara had made up the whole story?

Nancy shook her head and started walking back to the field. There were at least half a dozen people who'd been behaving suspiciously during the past two days. What she needed was evidence. Proof.
Someone
must have seen the guilty person putting the threatening note in Cheryl's bag or throwing the light switches at the swimming pool—or sabotaging the brakes on Nancy's car. And she had to find that someone before something else happened.

When Nancy arrived at the field, she found Bess still talking to Ramsay Roberts. She walked over to them.

“Hi, Nancy,” Bess called. “Isn't it great? Ramsay made it into the finals in both the discus and the shot put!”

“Congratulations,” Nancy said. “You're going to have a busy day tomorrow, aren't you?”

“It looks that way,” Ramsay said with a grin.

“And not only that,” Bess continued, “Ramsay can come to dinner with us tonight.”

“With whom?” asked Nancy, puzzled.

“With all of us. You mean you don't know about it yet? Your dad, my parents, and George's parents decided to treat us all to dinner at Le Saint-Tropez.”

“Great,” Nancy said. Le Saint-Tropez was one of the fanciest restaurants in River Heights.

“It's turning into quite a party,” Bess went on. “When I saw Cheryl just now and told her about it, she asked if Willy could come. And then Willy was worried that Annelise would feel left out unless we asked her, too. And, of course, now Ramsay is coming. I bet we'll have a terrific time.”

Nancy didn't want to think about what it would be like to have Cheryl, Marta, and Helga at the same dinner table. “It should be a very interesting evening” was all she said.

Bess didn't seem to notice the irony in her voice. “I need to find Marie-Laure,” she said. “We'll see you later.”

As Bess and Ramsay walked away, the tall
Canadian put his hand on Bess's shoulder and Bess gazed up at him. Nancy shook her head. Cheryl was certainly right about how fast romances developed at these meets!

Nancy looked at her watch. It was getting late. She and Cheryl should probably return home soon. Scanning the field, she started in the direction of the gym.

“Nancy!” someone called. “Over here!”

George was standing on the steps at the end of the grandstand, waving.

“Have you heard about this dinner tonight?” George asked when Nancy reached her.

“Bess was just telling me.”

“I was really surprised that everybody agreed. I mean, tomorrow's the final day of the games. I would have thought they'd want to have a simple training meal and get to bed early instead of having dinner at a fancy French restaurant.”

Nancy shrugged. “I guess they're all old enough to make up their own minds. Now, stop worrying about dinner and let's get on with our investigation. Did you find that magazine?”

George nodded. “It was right where I'd left it. I didn't see any English-language magazines, though, with or without cut pages.”

“But you found
Der Läufer?”
Nancy prompted.

“You bet. And the page you asked about, page twenty-three, was missing. It had been ripped out.”

“The missing page proves it, doesn't it?” said George. “Either Marta or Helga must have made that threatening note and slipped it into Cheryl's bag.”

“It looks that way,” Nancy replied, “although we'll have to match the page and the magazine to be sure. Do you have the magazine with you?”

“No, I left it at home, hidden in my room. I thought it would be safer there.”

“Good idea. It's important evidence.” Nancy brushed her reddish blond hair back from her face and tucked it behind one ear. “If Marta or Helga
is
responsible for the sabotage, it's going to take more than just hunches and accusations to stop them. We'll need proof. Be sure to bring the magazine to the meet with you tomorrow morning,
okay? I hope that by then we'll be in a position to wrap this up.”

Nancy glanced at her watch. “I'd better be getting home. Oops—I just remembered. My car is still at the garage. Can you give Cheryl and me a lift?”

“Sure,” George said. “Come on, let's go.”

“You know,” Nancy added as they walked toward the gym to find Cheryl, “I can't help feeling bad about this whole thing. It's funny—I was really looking forward to the games. After all, how often does anyone get the chance to meet world-class athletes and watch them in action? But now I'm starting to wish I'd never heard of them.”

• • •

A flash went off a few feet from Nancy's face just as she was lifting a slice of steak with white pepper sauce from her plate. She frowned as a dollop of sauce fell off the fork and smeared itself on the leg of her new black slacks.

Willy, who was sitting on Nancy's left, dipped his napkin in his ice water and offered it to her.

“No, thanks,” she said. She was starting to blot the sauce with her own napkin when another flash went off.

“Is this usual in the U.S., to have people take photographs as you eat?” Willy asked.

Nancy looked around. The dinner party had
grown so big that the maitre d' had put them in a small private dining room. The Faynes and their guests, Marta and Helga, were seated at one end of the long table. Steve seemed to be spending most of his time in that part of the room, and Nancy couldn't help wondering if Barbara had tipped him off that Helga and Marta might be getting some unusual publicity in the next day or two.

Eric continued to hover around Cheryl, who was sitting across the table from Willy, next to Carson Drew, Nancy's father.

“No, this isn't usual,” Nancy said, replying to Willy's question. “As a matter of fact, I'm not sure what Eric and Steve are doing here at all. I don't think anybody invited them.”

She hadn't meant for Eric to overhear her, but her words must have carried farther than she had intended them to. Eric grinned at her, and said “We're just covering the games, Nancy.”

Making her an exaggerated bow, he stepped to one side to get a better angle on Cheryl smiling at Carson Drew.

“He goes too far,” Willy muttered. “Cheryl should never have said she would allow this project. He is only using her for his own purposes. The medals she wins and the times she turns in are the only publicity she needs.”

“It must be nice to see a photo of yourself crossing the finish line, though,” Nancy commented.
“And to know that lots of other people saw it, too.”

Willy shrugged. “Nice, perhaps,” he said. “But the experience itself and the knowledge of what you have done—that should be enough.”

Still, camera lights continued to flash for the remainder of the evening. When the dessert arrived, everyone began to clap. George's mother had ordered a big oval cake decorated to look like an athletic field, complete with running track, a pole-vaulting setup, and even an array of tiny hurdles.

Carson Drew stood up. “No long speeches,” he said. “I promise. But I can't let the evening end without saying how happy all of us in River Heights are that you remarkable young people have come here to share your talents and dedication with us. Thank you.”

When the applause died down, Willy glanced around the table at his fellow athletes, then stood up in turn. “It is for us to thank you,” he said, “for taking us into your homes, for giving us a chance to try ourselves against one another, for allowing us to see something of your wonderful country, and most important”—he paused and looked across the table at Cheryl—“to give us the chance to make wonderful new friends. We will not forget our visit here.”

As everyone clapped and cheered, Eric and Steve were jockeying for the best camera angles.
“Okay, buddy,” Steve said. “You've been on my case for two days now, and I've had enough!”

Eric whirled and said, “Yeah? Too bad you can't use a camera as well as you use your mouth!”

Carson stood up again and said, “May I remind you gentlemen that this is a private party? It might be better if you were to leave now—and quietly.”

Steve and Eric looked at each other, then glanced around the room at the disapproving faces of the others. After an awkward pause, they each muttered, “Sorry,” and headed for the door.

Mrs. Fayne cut the cake and started passing slices around, but the fight between Eric and Steve had taken some of the fun out of the dinner. As soon as everyone had finished the cake, George said, “I think we ought to break up early. These guys have a meet tomorrow, after all.”

Steve and Eric were waiting for them outside the restaurant door, and Nancy was glad to see her father give them a friendly smile. He had been right to ask them to leave, but there was no point in starting a feud. There was already enough fighting going on in this group!

“Willy?” Nancy said when they reached the parking lot. “Can we give you a ride?”

“Thank you,” he said, taking Cheryl's hand.

“Marta, Helga?” George called. The Faynes
had parked next to Nancy's father. “You can come in back with me.”

“Ramsay and Annelise are coming with us,” Bess announced. “And Marie-Laure, of course.”

Nancy realized with a guilty start that she had barely said more than a hello to the young French girl all evening. She was about to go over to her when Mr. Fayne exclaimed, “Oh, no, not again! The car won't start.”

He climbed out with a flashlight in his hand and raised the hood. Nancy went over and peered down at the engine. “Do you know what the problem is?” she asked.

“Not really,” he grumbled. “It must be something electrical, but no one has been able to track it down. Usually it just seems to fix itself.”

“Mr. Fayne?” said Willy. “Would you mind to let me look at it? I know something about automobiles.”

“I'd be grateful,” Mr. Fayne said.

Willy took the flashlight from Mr. Fayne and he began to pull and push at the tangle of wires.

Nancy watched curiously. Willy certainly seemed to know his way around cars. Could he have been the one who had sabotaged her Mustang? Eric and Annelise had also gathered around. Nancy heard Annelise give Willy some suggestions about what might be wrong. She was about to join them when Bess came over with Marie-Laure. As Nancy chatted with them, she
kept glancing at the group bent under the Faynes' hood but didn't have a chance to watch closely.

“Try the engine now,” Willy suggested after a few minutes.

Mr. Fayne got in and turned the key. The engine caught at once.

Willy was just closing the hood of the car when suddenly Eric said in alarm, “My bag! Where's my camera bag?”

Nancy hurried over to him. “Where did you leave it?”

“On the ground, next to my motorcycle.” He was looking frantically from side to side. “I put it down when you guys came out of the restaurant, and now it's gone. All my equipment is in it—everything!”

“Don't worry,” Nancy said. “No one's been in the parking lot except us. It's bound to be around here somewhere.” Unless someone in the group took it on purpose, Nancy added to herself. She looked quickly toward Helga and Marta, who were standing quietly at the side of the Faynes' car. “We'll all help you look,” she told Eric.

Nancy borrowed Mr. Fayne's flashlight and bent down to look underneath the nearest cars. All she found were a couple of discarded soda cans. Straightening up again, she headed toward the dark shadows of the surrounding shrubbery.

“Here,” Annelise's voice called from beyond one of the nearby cars. “Is this it?”

She appeared with a canvas-and-leather bag in her hands, and Eric ran over to her. “Hey, I really don't know how to thank you,” he said.

“It was nothing,” she replied, handing him the bag.

“Where did you find it?” asked Nancy.

Annelise pointed. “It was under one of those bushes, but the strap was still in sight. That is what led me to it.”

“I don't think it got there by accident,” Nancy said. “Eric, you'd better check—”

“Oh, no!” he wailed, staring down into the open bag. “My film. It's gone!”

“Don't worry,” Carson Drew said. “You can buy more first thing in the morning, before the games begin.”

“You don't understand,” Eric said, his voice shrill. “This was exposed film. I was planning to mail it to the processors tomorrow.”

“You mean—” Nancy began.

“I'm finished.” Eric pounded his fist against his forehead. “Wiped out! Every color shot I've taken in the last two days is gone!”

“Are you sure, Eric?” Nancy asked. “Could you have left the film at home and then forgotten about it?”

“I'm sure, all right,” he replied. “It was in there fifteen minutes ago when I changed lenses, and it's not there now. And I know who to blame, too.”

Pushing past Nancy and her father, he strode over to Steve, who was standing talking to Marta and George. He grabbed Steve by the shoulder and spun him around.