This Side of Evil (3 page)

“It is,” Nancy said. She sat down at the makeup table so she could see Annette’s face in the mirror. “It’s about blackmail.”

Annette’s hand jerked, and she smudged the black mascara on her cheek. But she recovered immediately. “Blackmail?” she asked in an innocent voice as she wiped away the smear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Nancy replied casually. “I’m talking about you and Dutch Medina.”

Annette swiveled her chair around, her eyes narrowed. “Listen,” she hissed, “if you think you can come in here and threaten me—”

“I’m not threatening you,” Nancy assured her. “I want to help, if I can.” She took out the letter Becky Evans had given her. “I think this was meant for you.”

Annette paled under her makeup as she read the letter. “How did you get this?”

“The blackmailer sent it to one of his other victims by mistake,” Nancy said. She leaned forward. “How did you help Dutch Medina?”

Annette’s face became a mask, with her mouth pressed into a tight line. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said in a hard voice.

Nancy stood up. “No,” she replied pleasantly. “You don’t have to say a word to me.” She picked up her blazer, which she had put on the back of her chair. “You can go on making blackmail payments until the money runs out. Or you can go to the police and tell them—”

“But I can’t,” Annette burst out. Her composure was beginning to unravel. “I
can’t
go to the police! If I did, everyone would find out that I was involved with Medina—that I faked his alibi!”

“So that’s what the blackmailer meant when he said that you kept Medina out of jail?”

The woman slumped in her chair. “It was a long time ago, more than ten years. The prosecutor couldn’t convict him because I swore that Dutch and I were together when a shooting occurred. I was such a fool! I was so sure he was innocent!”

“And now you can’t afford to have people know about this,” Nancy went on.

Annette bit her lip. “It would mean the end of my career.” She turned to Nancy, her eyes pleading. “Listen, Nancy Drew, you’ve
got
to catch this blackmailer. He’s making my life absolutely miserable—and not just
my
life, either!”

Nancy looked at her. “You know about other victims?” Of course! Annette had probably gotten Becky Evans’s blackmail letter.

But she hadn’t. Instead Annette explained, “Her name is Lake Sinclair. She was involved in a hit-and-run accident a year or so ago. She’s been paying the bills for the victim’s plastic surgery, not to mention whatever it cost to fix her own fancy yellow Mercedes. And now she’s paying a blackmailer, too.”

“How’d you find out about this?” Nancy asked.

“A few days ago Lake tried to sell me a piece of her family jewelry. I asked her what was going on, and she broke down and told me why she had to have the money.” Annette shivered nervously. “I assumed that we were dealing with the same blackmailer, but maybe we’re not. It could be someone else.”

“There’s no way of knowing until I check it out,” Nancy said. She stood up. “Thanks for being straight with me, Ms. LeBeau. I hope we can get to the bottom of this quickly.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” George said. The girls were in their bedroom at the apartment. George pulled her red lamb’s wool sweater over her head and threw it on the bed. Then she stepped out of her black jeans. “
Another
blackmail victim?” She counted on her fingers. “That makes five, doesn’t it?”

Nancy nodded. “Our blackmailer’s been busy. No wonder he’s making mistakes—like sending his demands to the wrong person.” She scratched her head. “And I wonder what became of Becky Evans’s letter. I thought maybe it would turn up in Annette LeBeau’s mail, but so far it hasn’t.”

“I think this guy needs a computer,” George said. “Might help him keep his victims straight.” She pulled on her bathrobe.

“No kidding.” Nancy took off her khaki-colored corduroy blazer and hung it up in the closet. “So how did you and Ned do today?” she asked, slipping off her loafers. She wriggled her toes. “Any luck with the typewriters?”

George went over to the dresser and took the blackmail notes out of her purse, handing them to Nancy. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like these were typed at Cherbourg Industries.”

“Of course,” Nancy said thoughtfully, “the blackmailer could still work there and have typed these at home.” She pulled out the notes and began to examine them with the small magnifying glass she always carried in her purse. Shaking her head, she looked up. “I don’t see anything special. Oh, by the way, where’d Ned go?”

Before George could answer, a knock interrupted them. George hurried into the living room to answer the door.

“Who is it?” Nancy asked.

“Just the bellman from downstairs,” George called back. “He brought the newspaper up.” She came back into the bedroom, unfolding it. Her face went suddenly white.

“Nancy,” she gasped. “Look!”

Nancy looked at the paper in George’s hands. Across the front page, in big black letters, the headline screamed “NANCY DREW DIES IN MONTREAL!”

Chapter Four

N
ANCY DROPPED HER
magnifying glass and snatched the paper away from George. She looked at it closely. “Look, George,” she said, pointing, “the letters are all pasted up. And my picture has been cut out of another newspaper.”

“Really slick,” George said sarcastically, staring at the paper. “Whoever did this is so creative.”

“Yeah,” Nancy said, biting her lip. “And evil, too.” She picked up the phone from the bedside table.

“Who are you calling?” George asked.

“The bellman,” Nancy replied. “I want to find out how he got this paper.”

The bellman couldn’t tell Nancy anything specific. He said he’d found the paper downstairs, on the desk just inside the door of the apartment building. Somebody must have put it there when he was away. The room number was scrawled on it, so he’d brought it upstairs immediately.

“No leads there,” Nancy said with a sigh, hanging up. “The street door is only locked at night. Anybody could have walked in and left it.”

Just then Ned came home. He popped his head into the bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Without a word, Nancy handed him the paper.

“Uh-oh,” he said, taking it from her.

“ ‘Uh-oh’ is right,” Nancy agreed soberly. “Looks like we’ve spooked our blackmailer.”

Ned sat down on the bed, staring at the paper. “Where’d this picture come from, Nan? I don’t recognize it.”

Nancy frowned. “I’ve been trying to remember. It could give us a clue about who’s behind all this.”

Ned looked at Nancy. “Well, no matter who the blackmailer is, this case is getting serious. We’re not dealing with somebody who’s just shooting off interoffice memos for spare change. This is a
death
threat.”

George frowned. “I wonder how many people—besides Ms. Amberton, that is—know that we’re staying in this apartment.”

“That’s a good question,” Nancy said grimly. “I’ll ask Ashley Amberton tomorrow.”

“Correction,” Ned said. “
We’ll
ask Ashley Amberton. I don’t think you ought to work alone on this one, Nan.” He reached for her hand. “Two will be safer than one.”

George gave them a quick glance and picked up her cosmetic case. “Well, if you
two
don’t mind,” she informed them lightly, “I’ve got a date tonight—for a
French
lesson.” She tossed her head and smiled devilishly. “I’m going to learn to say more than just
oui
.” She disappeared into the bathroom, humming to herself.

Nancy sighed. It didn’t take a detective to see that George had found a new friend—a very cute, very
male
friend. Who was this guy?

Ned squeezed her hand. “I’m ready for a romantic evening with my favorite girl. Want to try that Chinese restaurant we saw? Maybe go dancing again later?”

Nancy threw a questioning look in the direction of the bathroom. She hadn’t seen George acting so crazy in months.

“Nickerson calling Drew,” Ned said, into a pretend microphone. “How about a date tonight?”

“Affirmative,” Nancy said, turning back to Ned. George would tell her everything later—if there was anything to tell, that is.

“I suppose anyone could’ve known where you’re staying,” Ashley Amberton said the following morning. “Everyone here at Cherbourg has access to the company apartment; all they have to do is reserve it.”

“Who handles that?” Ned asked.

“A secretary down the hall.”

“We’d like to speak to her, please,” Nancy said.

The secretary showed Nancy and Ned the schedule of bookings for the apartment. Usually, they learned, the book hung on the wall beside the door. After Nancy questioned the secretary, it was clear that Ms. Amberton was right—anyone could have looked at the schedule.

Back in Ms. Amberton’s office, Nancy shook her head. “No leads in that direction,” she said.

“I’m becoming quite concerned.” Ashley Amberton went to the balcony door to look out across the river. “This thing seems to be getting bigger every day. First that business with Monique, now the threat against your life.” She threw Nancy a troubled glance. “Where is it going to end?”

“Do you know somebody named Lake Sinclair?” Nancy asked.

Ms. Amberton turned around sharply, surprise written across her face. “Lake Sinclair? Why, of course I know her. Her father is one of Mr. Cherbourg’s closest friends.” She studied Nancy, her brows drawn together in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” Nancy said, “it looks like she might be another one of our blackmailer’s victims.”

“Lake?” Ms. Amberton exclaimed. “How did you find
that
out?”

Nancy told her what she had learned from Annette LeBeau.

“A hit-and-run?” Ms. Amberton dropped heavily into her desk chair. “You can’t be serious. Lake’s always been a little on the wild side, but she’d never do anything like that!”

“Maybe not,” Nancy replied, “but we can’t be sure about that, can we? And I have to follow every single lead, no matter where it takes me.”

The woman nodded, watching Nancy with a look of grudging respect. “I see,” she said softly, “that you are a
very
professional detective, Nancy Drew.” She reached for the phone. “I’ll set up a meeting with Lake.”

Lake Sinclair’s condominium, Nancy learned from Ms. Amberton, was located in a restored section of Old Montreal, near the wharves.

“You know what we could do?” Ned asked later that morning as they left the Cherbourg Building. “We could get a caleche—you know, a horsedrawn carriage—and ride in style. But only if you’ll promise not to say one word about business while we’re on the way!”

“Oh, Ned, it sounds so romantic!” Nancy cried. “But what about George?” She pushed up the sleeves of her royal blue cotton sweater. “Shouldn’t we call the apartment to see if she’s back from her jogging? Maybe she’d like to go, too.”

“Sure, but I think she has a date,” he said. Ned reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of Canadian coins. “Need change?”

“Yes,” Nancy said and grinned. “Thank you.”

Nancy let the phone ring a dozen times, but George didn’t answer. “I guess she did go out,” she said regretfully, hanging up the phone.

“So what do you say about that carriage ride?” Ned asked.

“What are we waiting for?” Nancy answered with a happy smile.

They walked over to the plaza, where Ned hailed a shiny black caleche, which was pulled by a large gray horse. Nancy climbed in, and just as Ned was about to get in beside her, he held up his hand. Asking the driver to wait for a minute, he disappeared in the direction of a flower stand. When he came back, he was carrying a tiny bouquet of violets and lilies of the valley. He handed them to Nancy with a grand flourish.

“Oh, Ned,” she said, touched. “How sweet!” She held the violets against her blue sweater. They looked even more fragile and exotic against the bold color of her top.

“It wouldn’t be a spring day in Montreal without flowers,” Ned said, climbing in beside her.

Nancy leaned back in the seat, breathing in the rich fragrance of the flowers. The bright spring sunshine warmed her as the horse pulled the caleche away from the curb.

“This
was
a great idea,” she said. Ned was right—for the next few minutes, Nancy would forget all about the case and just enjoy the Montreal sunshine and Ned there beside her.

Ned pulled his guidebook out of his pocket and looked through it. “Here on the left, ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned, glancing up, “is the famous Nelson Column, dedicated to the British commander who—”

Nancy sat straight up. “The Nelson what?”

“The Nelson Column. Right over there.”

Nancy looked where Ned was pointing. At one end of the open square stood a tall stone column with a statue on the top. “That’s the place!” Nancy exclaimed.

“Hey, you’re right!” Ned said. “The place our blackmail victims leave their payoffs!”

Nancy stared at the column. There was a trash can a few yards from it, probably the very one where the victims made their drops.

She thought for a moment. “You know, Ned,” she said, “maybe the quickest way to wrap up this case would be to wait until there’s another letter. Then stake out the drop and wait for the blackmailer to—”

Ned began to laugh. “Do you realize what we’re doing?” he asked.

Guiltily, Nancy nodded. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “We’re talking business again.”

Ned squeezed her hand. “I understand,” he said softly. “It’s just so much a part of you that you can’t really put it out of your mind, can you?”

Nancy shook her head. “Yes, I can,” she said stubbornly. “Starting right now!”

After a while the caleche turned down a side street, the horse’s hooves
clip-clopping
steadily on the pavement. The brick and fieldstone houses and small shops were built close to the street. They had steeply pitched copper roofs with dormer windows and brightly colored shutters. Some of the buildings also had wrought-iron balconies, and every now and then Nancy glimpsed a shaded courtyard, hidden between buildings. There were old-fashioned street lamps on every corner and pots of flowers beside the doorways.