Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди. Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди

Dare to read: Нэнси Дрю и Братья Харди

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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!

Carolyn Keene

Nancy Drew Girl Detective: Volume Twenty-Six

Fishing for Clues

Copyright, 2007, by Simon & Schuster, Inc

Something fishy is going on in River Heights—and this time I really mean it! First a burglar breaks into the Nickersons’ home and snatches Ned’s digital camera, and then a few days later his laptop is stolen. Ned is super bummed—there’s no replacing the hilarious photos he snapped of his dad falling out of the boat on their fishing trip. I have a hunch this is more than a run of bad luck and I’m determined to reel in the crook—hook, line, and sinker.

A Running Start

“Nancy, I have bad news.” My friend Bess Marvin’s blue eyes were sorrowful as she gazed at me. “It’s about George.”

“What? What’s wrong with George?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat. “Is she hurt?”

“Not exactly,” Bess replied. “It’s just that she has completely LOST HER MIND!” She said the last words in a shout.

“Who’s lost her mind?” My other best friend, Bess’s cousin George Fayne, opened the door of Bess’s bedroom and stepped inside.

“You, apparently.” I looked George up and down. “Although I have to say, I’m having a hard time seeing it.” She was wearing low-cut black workout pants and a gray hoodie, and her short, tousled dark hair was pulled back in a headband, which was a pretty standard look for her.

“What did I do?” George asked Bess, her forehead wrinkling.

“Oh, nothing,” Bess said. “Only signed all three of us up to run in a marathon, that’s all!”

“Excuse me?” I choked on the sip of iced tea I’d just taken. “Did you say marathon?”

“It’s not a marathon,” George protested. “It’s just a ten-K run for charity. Piece of cake—my grandmother could do it.”

“Wasn’t your grandmother in the Olympics?” I murmured. I knew that wasn’t true, but it is true that athletic ability runs in George’s family. She’s a natural. Her energy level is so high that I’ve actually seen her dance in place while waiting to cross the street. She can eat whatever she wants and never gain an ounce, unlike the rest of us mortals. She’s also a techno-geek, but that’s another story.

“It’ll be fun!” George was insisting. “It’s in a month, so we’ve got plenty of time to train. And I’ve got a great routine already worked out.”

I could see the gleam in her brown eyes. It worried me. I mean, I’m not unathletic—I like a tennis match or a pickup soccer game as much as the next girl—but George can be kind of a fanatic. I had visions of her counting off like a drill sergeant as Bess and I did hundreds of crunches and push-ups.

“I don’t know,” I started to say. “I’ve got a lot going on right now...”

“Like what?” George said. “You haven’t had a new case in weeks. Face it, Nan, you’ve caught every criminal in River Heights. There just aren’t any left.”

I had to laugh. See, I’m a detective. And even though I’m not a pro, in a place like River Heights, I usually manage to find plenty of mysteries to keep me busy. You’d be amazed how many people need help—locating a long-lost relative, finding out who’s been trampling their vegetable patch, stuff like that. But the truth was, my life had been pretty uneventful lately.

“I guess I could fit it in,” I said. “After all, it is for charity.”

“Nancy Drew!” Bess cried. “You’re supposed to be on my side!” She flopped dramatically back on her bed. “What about charity toward me?” She sat up again. “Have mercy on me, you two. I do not run. I’m not built for it!”

George and I both looked at her. Bess’s blue eyes are paired with long, soft blond hair and dimples. She is slightly shorter and curvier than either George or me, but she definitely isn’t fat. In fact, Bess is totally gorgeous. Boys have been known to stare after her so long that they walk into walls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” George said. “You’ve got legs, don’t you? That’s all you need.”

“Well, I’m not doing it,” Bess snapped. “I read in a magazine that running is terrible for you.”

“It’s for a good cause,” I said. “Um, by the way, George, what cause is it?”

“Environmental Action,” George said. “You don’t get a better cause than that.”

“No way,” Bess said, and folded her arms.

George sighed. “Oh, well, I guess Deirdre’s team will get all the glory, then.”

“What?” Bess cried. Deirdre Shannon is one of her least favorite people. None of us are all that fond of her, in fact. But Bess feels especially strongly about her, ever since the time Deirdre “accidentally” snagged her heel in Bess’s gown and ripped off half the skirt because Bess went to a benefit dance with a boy Deirdre liked.

“Yeah,” George said now. “The team that raises the most money gets a feature in the River Heights Bugle. And Richard Solomon has pledged that whichever team comes in first, he’ll match however much money they’ve managed to raise on their own.”

“Wow!” I said. “That’s generous.” Richard Solomon is a local businessman who is running for governor. My boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, is volunteering on his campaign.

“Who’s on Deirdre’s team?” Bess asked.

“Tom Foley, for one,” George answered.

I raised my eyebrows. Tom Foley is our town’s track star. He is also the boy with whom Bess had gone to the benefit dance.

Bess’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious? She must be paying him.”

“Could be,” George said. “All I know is, I saw Deirdre this morning when I was signing our team up, and she saw your name on the list and laughed.”

Bess gasped in outrage. “She did? That little—well, that settles it. Fine.” She took a deep breath. “I’m in, and I’m in to win!”

I had to turn away to hide my smile. I was almost positive George had just made up the whole Deirdre thing, but whatever. It worked.

As I turned back I caught sight of Bess’s alarm clock. Oh, no! “Five o’clock already?” I moaned. “I’m supposed to be meeting Ned for coffee right this minute! I’ve got to go!”

“Tomorrow morning at six a.m.,” George called after me as I hurried off. “Bess and I will pick you up at your house. Wear running clothes.”

“Six a.m.? That’s the crack of dawn!” I heard Bess squawk.

As I ran down the sidewalk to my car I flipped open my cell phone with one hand and dug in my bag for my keys with the other. I hit Ned’s speed-dial number. He picked up just as I opened my car door—and my alarm went off. “Ack!” I yelped, and stabbed at the Disarm button. “Stupid thing!”

“I’m going to assume you’re not talking to me,” Ned replied, laughing. “Hi, Nancy.”

“I’m sorry, Ned,” I said breathlessly. “I’m—”

“On your way,” he finished for me. “I know, I know. Don’t worry about it. Just drive safe and I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

I smiled into the phone. “You’re the best. See you in ten.”

Ten minutes later I pulled into a parking space across from Mugged, Ned’s and my favorite coffee hangout, and hurried inside.

He was sitting at our usual spot in the window, peering at the screen of his laptop, looking adorable as always. Two mocha lattes steamed on the table. He knows what I like. I slid into the seat opposite him and gave him a quick hello peck on the lips. “Sorry I’m late.”

The corners of his brown eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. “You haven’t been late in a while. Does this mean you have a new case?”

“No, just a new cause.” I told him about the 10–K run and how George had gotten Bess to agree to do it by playing on her dislike for Deirdre Shannon. “I’m a little worried about how psyched George is,” I added. “She wants us to go running at six tomorrow morning. Ugh! That’s brutal.”

“Six? That’s nothing,” Ned scoffed. “My dad’s been on this manly activity kick lately and he dragged me out to the river at five yesterday morning to go fishing. The sun wasn’t even up yet when we got there.”

“Ouch,” I said, wincing. “On a Sunday, too! Isn’t it supposed to be a day of rest?”

He grinned. “Actually, it turned out to be a lot of fun. We rented one of those little putt-putt motorboats from the marina next to the golf course. You know Dad—he always has to do it right, so he had on his special fishing hat with all the fly-fishing lures in it, none of which he’s ever used in his life. So then we sat there for like half an hour and he kept going on about how this was the way life should be, just men and nature, and planning out this whole series of articles about it for the newspaper.” Ned’s dad is the publisher of the River Heights Bugle. “And nothing was biting at all, and I was getting hungrier and hungrier because he wouldn’t let us stop for breakfast, and then all of a sudden his line started wiggling.”

“What was it?” I asked, skimming cinnamon-dusted foam off my latte.

“I figured it would be a log or an old boot or something, but it turned out to be this monster catfish,” Ned said. “It must have weighed twenty pounds. And Dad reeled it in just like a pro. I was impressed. For a minute, anyway.” His grin got wider.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “What happened?”

Ned turned his laptop so that I could see the screen. “One picture is worth a thousand words,” he said. “Or, in this case, two pictures.”

I peered at the image. In the background was the early-morning river, steam still rising in wisps off its surface, and the rolling green of the golf course. In the fore-ground was James Nickerson, Ned’s father, standing up in the boat and clutching a huge mud-colored fish with both hands, a wild-eyed look on his face. The fish looked as though it was trying to go for his throat.

Ned clicked the mouse and a new image appeared. This one showed only his father’s legs and feet, sticking up in the air. The rest of him was over the side of the boat. The fish was leaping to freedom.

I burst out laughing. “Oh, no! He fell overboard?”

“He fell overboard,” Ned confirmed. “It took me twenty minutes to fish him out. No pun intended. And that was the end of our great expedition.”

“Was he okay?” I asked, taking a sip of my latte.

“He was fine. No injuries. Just wounded pride,” Ned said. “Oh, and he had a scare because he had the diamond bracelet he bought my mom for her birth day in his jacket pocket, and he was afraid it might have fallen out. But he got lucky.”

“He took a diamond bracelet on a fishing trip? In his pocket?” I exclaimed.

Ned waved a hand in the air. “You know my dad. He can be kind of nuts sometimes. My mom always goes through all his stuff looking for her present, and he says the only way he can keep it a surprise is just to carry it with him at all times.”

“Yeah, but still...” I shook my head, appalled. “That’s a big risk.”

“Tell me about it,” Ned agreed. “I think maybe after what happened yesterday he’ll be more careful, though. He was really worried there for a minute.”

He leaned back in his seat and looked at his watch. “We should get going,” he told me. I’d been invited to eat over at the Nickersons’ that evening. “Mom’s making grilled salmon, I think.”

He packed up his laptop and we headed to my car. “After yesterday, will your father ever eat fish again?” I asked with a grin.

“He complained, but Mom told him he has to get back on the fish that threw him,” Ned answered. “Anyway, at least it’s not catfish.”

We stopped off at the market to pick up a nice loaf of bread, and then headed to the Nickersons’ house, which was on a pleasant, leafy street in the older section of River Heights. I followed Ned up the walkway and waited while he got out his keys. He slid his key into the keyhole, then frowned.

“That’s funny. The door isn’t locked,” he said as he swung it open. “Mom’s usually a fanatic about that.” He raised his voice and called, “Mom?”

No one answered. “Mom?” he called again, striding into the kitchen. “You home?”

Still no answer. “Maybe she just ran out for a second,” I suggested.

“Could be,” Ned said. “I’m going to quickly check upstairs. Maybe she’s resting or something.”

I followed him up the stairs. Together we peered into the master bedroom. It was quiet and empty, the setting sun turning the white carpet orange.

Ned shrugged. “I guess she must have gone out and forgotten to lock up,” he said. “I’m just going to dump my stuff in my room.”

He opened the door to his room, which was at the other end of the hallway. Then I heard him gasp. “No!”

My heart thudded. I ran down the hall and peered over his shoulder as he stood frozen in the doorway. My mouth fell open in shock.

There on Ned’s bedroom floor lay his mother. Her eyes were closed, her face white. And she wasn’t moving.

Break-In!

“Mom!” Ned exclaimed. He dropped to his knees and grabbed his mother’s hand. Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned.

I already had my phone out. I quickly dialed 911. After a moment the dispatcher came on. “What is your emergency?” she asked.

“We need an ambulance right away. A woman is unconscious, maybe with a concussion,” I explained. I gave Ned’s address, and the dispatcher put me on hold. A moment later she came back on the line.

“The paramedics should be there in four minutes,” she told me. “Don’t move her until they get there.”

“Got it,” I said, and hung up.

Edith Nickerson’s eyes opened slowly. “Oooh,” she said in a faint voice. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re wondering,” Ned told her, his voice shaky with relief. “Take it easy and just stay put, Mom. The paramedics are on the way. You were unconscious. Did you fall or something?”

A frown pulled Mrs. Nickerson’s brows together. “I don’t think so...” Then her eyes widened. “No! Ned, there was someone in the house! I heard a noise in your room and I came in to see what it was and—and someone hit me!”

I couldn’t stifle my gasp of shock. A burglar? That was seriously creepy.

Ned was already reaching for his phone. He called the police and told them there’d been a break-in. Then he called his father at the office to let him know what had happened.

Mrs. Nickerson squinted at Ned’s digital clock. “It was only about fifteen minutes ago,” she told me. “I’d just turned on the evening news when I heard the noise.” She let out a little gasp. “Nancy, do you think he could still be in the house?”

“No,” I said, trying to sound confident. “There was no sign of any disturbance in the rest of the house. Plus the front door was unlocked. I think he got spooked after what he did and just took off.”

Ned opened his closet and pulled out his wooden baseball bat “Just in case,” he said quietly to me.

“He must have climbed up the elm and come through my window,” he went on. “It’s been so warm, I’ve been leaving it open.” I glanced across the room and saw that the window was indeed open. A mild autumn breeze stirred the curtains.

Suddenly Mrs. Nickerson gasped again. “My bracelet!” she cried. “My new diamond bracelet! What if he was after that? Ned, go check in my bedside table. Please tell me it’s still there!”

Ned ran down the hall to his parents’ room. A moment later he returned, holding a black velvet jewelry case. “It’s still here,” he said.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mrs. Nickerson breathed.

The doorbell pealed, announcing the arrival of the paramedics. “I’ll get it,” I said, and hurried downstairs to let them in.

The police pulled up just as I opened the door, and two uniformed officers immediately started checking the house. One of them was my friend, Ellen Johansen. I was glad to see her.

“No one here,” she reported as she came into Ned’s room a few moments later. “Ma’am, can you describe what happened?”

By now the paramedics had helped Mrs. Nickerson to Ned’s desk chair, where she was sitting and arguing with them about whether or not she should go to the hospital for overnight observation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m perfectly fine,” she said briskly.

“But, ma’am, any head trauma is potentially very serious,” one of the paramedics said. “It’s our responsibility to get you checked out.”

“I’m telling you, I’m all right. My vision isn’t blurred, I can remember everything perfectly, and I’m not in the least nauseated. If it makes you feel any better, I promise to go to my doctor in the morning. But the last thing I want to do right now is spend the night in a hospital bed,” Mrs. Nickerson said. “You might as well stop trying, because I’m not going to change my mind.”

The paramedics looked unhappy. I grinned at Ned. Mrs. Nickerson was sounding a lot more like herself.

“Ma’am?” Officer Johansen, who had been waiting patiently, repeated. “Can you describe what happened?”

I listened as Mrs. Nickerson went through her story. “It was just six o’clock,” she said. “I’d come upstairs to get something and I heard a noise in Ned’s room. I went in to see what it was, and someone hit me on the back of the head.”

“Did you get a look at this person?” Officer Johansen asked, writing in her notebook.

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see him at all. When I came in, the room looked empty. He must have been behind the door,” Mrs. Nickerson told her.

“Mmm. Anything missing?” Officer Johansen asked.

“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Nickerson began. But then Ned, who’d been opening and closing his desk drawers with a troubled expression, interrupted.

“Yes, there is. My digital camera,” he said. “I left it sitting on my desk this morning. It’s gone.”

“Oh, no!” I said. That camera was Ned’s baby. It was brand new and super deluxe. It practically took pictures by itself. He’d spent weeks researching exactly what he wanted and months working extra hours at his campus job to save the money for it.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Ned’s mom said. “Fortunately, our insurance will pay for the replacement.” She turned back to Officer Johansen, who’d been joined by her partner, a short man with a crew cut whose name tag said HINKLEY. “I think I know what the thief was after,” she said, and held up the velvet jewelry box with the bracelet in it. “My husband gave me this yesterday for my birthday. I wore it out to dinner last night and I’m afraid I showed it off quite a bit. My guess is that someone in the restaurant saw me flashing it and followed us home.”

“Could be,” Officer Hinkley said in a noncommittal tone. He examined the open window. “This how he got in?”

“I guess so,” Mrs. Nickerson said.

“You leave your windows open as a habit?” he asked, making it sound as though getting some fresh air was just short of a crime.

“It’s never been a problem before,” Ned said, bristling.

“We think the burglar left by the front door, though,” I put in. “It was unlocked when Ned and I got here. It might be worth knocking on a few doors. It’s a long shot, but maybe one of the neighbors saw him leaving.”

I was trying to be polite and not act like I was telling the police how to do their job. I’ve had a few run-ins with Pete McGinnis, the chief of police. He’s basically a good guy, and he runs a great police department, but he tends to get testy when I solve mysteries his people can’t.

Now Officer Hinkley looked me up and down. “I’ve seen you at headquarters. You’re Nancy Drew, aren’t you?” he asked. “The teenage detective?”

The way he said it, I could practically see the air quotes around the word detective. But I just smiled politely. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Hmm. Maybe you should leave police work to the police,” he said.

My smile froze, but Officer Johansen cut in before I could say anything.

“Thanks for the tip,” she said. “We’ll talk to the neighbors, but it’s true, it is a long shot. We’ll let you know if we find out anything useful.” She glanced at her partner with a slight frown. “Come on, Carl.”

After they and the paramedics left, Ned and I helped his mother down the stairs. In the living room she put her feet up on the couch. I propped pillows behind her while Ned brought her an ice pack and some aspirin.

“Thanks, Ned. I didn’t want to tell those paramedics, or they’d probably have rushed me off to surgery, but my head really does hurt,” Mrs. Nickerson admitted. “I don’t know that I’m up to cooking dinner tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, please! As if anyone would expect you to, after what happened to you!” I exclaimed.

“Nancy and I can cook,” Ned volunteered.

I caught Mrs. Nickerson’s horrified look and burst out laughing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told Ned. “Remember when we cooked for your parents on their anniversary? We’re just lucky no one ended up in the hospital after that meal! You can barely boil water, and I’m worse. How about we just order a couple of pizzas?”

“That sounds perfect, Nancy,” Mrs. Nickerson said gratefully. She sighed. “You know, I didn’t get the impression that Officer Hinkley is all that eager to track down this burglar.”

“Neither did I,” Ned agreed, scowling.

“Well,” I pointed out, “to be fair, I don’t know how much the police can do beyond talking to your neighbors. If no one saw anything—and I doubt anybody did, especially since it was the time of day when most people are in the kitchen getting dinner ready—that’s pretty much the end of it, as far as the police are concerned.”

“But what about all those people at the restaurant?” Mrs. Nickerson protested. “I’m sure I’m right about someone being after my bracelet. Can’t they get a list of the people who were there last night and investigate them?”

“Not really,” I said. “I mean, they could interview them, but without some kind of evidence that links someone to this house, they can’t really go beyond questions, and I don’t think that would accomplish much. What restaurant was it, by the way?”

“Al di La,” Mrs. Nickerson told me. “That Officer Hinkley didn’t even ask me that!”

At that point James Nickerson barreled through the door, demanding to know what had happened. While Mrs. Nickerson was giving the details, Ned and I went into the kitchen to order pizzas.

“You know,” Ned said thoughtfully as he hung up the phone, “there’s someone else who saw Mom’s bracelet. The guy at the marina where Dad and I rented the boat yesterday—I think his name is Lonny. Big guy, with long hair. When we got back to shore and Dad was dripping wet, of course he wanted to know what had happened. Dad gave him the blow-by-blow and even showed him the bracelet. Lonny was pretty impressed with it. He kept asking if the diamonds were real.”

“Huh,” I said. “And he wouldn’t need to follow you home to find out where you live. He’d have all that info from the paperwork you had to fill out to rent the boat.”

“Exactly,” Ned agreed.

“You didn’t mention that to the police,” I pointed out.

Ned shrugged. “Like you said, there’s not much they can do without evidence. And I figured, since that’s true, maybe it’s not a good idea for them to go asking questions and letting Lonny know that he’s a suspect.”

“Aha,” I said, my eyebrows rising as I realized where he was going. “But if, say, a girl was to stop by the marina tomorrow and ask this Lonny a few questions about her boyfriend’s crazy boating adventure last Sunday, it probably wouldn’t occur to him that she might be fishing for other information. Right?”

“That’s what I like about you,” Ned said, kissing the tip of my nose. “You’re a girl who knows how to pick up a hint.”

I felt a little glow, and it wasn’t just from Ned’s kiss. My detective sense was tingling. I had the feeling I was about to start my next case!

Trolling for a Thief

When the pizza arrived we all ate it sitting around the coffee table in the living room. “Ahh, I feel much better now,” Mrs. Nickerson said as she finished a slice with pepperoni and mushrooms. “Thanks, Ned and Nancy, for taking such good care of me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to cook—I had such a nice salmon dinner planned.”

“Actually,” Ned said, helping himself to a third slice, “I have a theory.”

“Oh?” I said. “What’s that?”

He grinned. “I think the entire break-in was part of a plot by Dad to prevent Mom from cooking fish and thus reminding him of his moment of shame on the river yesterday.”

“I object to that remark!” Ned’s father protested. “Falling into the water is a time-honored part of fishing. Anyway, if I’d planned the break-in I would have stolen the salmon itself.”

We all laughed at that. Then, sobering, Mr. Nickerson went on, “Seriously, though, I’m just glad you got off with only a bump on the head, dear.” He took Mrs. Nickerson’s hand in his. “It could have been much worse. I guess we always think these kinds of thing happen to other people—until they happen to us, that is.”

Mrs. Nickerson nodded emphatically. “That’s so true. You know, I always imagined thieves struck in the dead of night. But this one just came in, in broad daylight, as bold as brass. And walked out the front door as if he had nothing to hide. It’s frightening!”

“It is kind of strange,” I agreed, frowning. “The fact is, many burglars try to hit a place during the day, while people are likely to be at work. But I’ve never heard of anyone trying to break in right around dinner-time.”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?” Mr. Nickerson said. “But I guess if burglars had more sense, they wouldn’t be burglars.”

“I asked Nancy to do some investigating,” Ned told his parents. “And not just because I’m bummed out about my brand-new camera either. Maybe if we figure out who broke in, we’ll be able to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Well, Nancy, I’ve seen you in action and so I know I don’t need to tell you to be careful,” Mrs. Nickerson said. Her brow creased. “But all the same: Please be careful, dear.”

“I will be,” I assured her, feeling a rush of warmth. Ned and I have been together for such a long time that his mom is a little like a mother to me, too, especially since I lost my own mother when I was only three years old.

After we finished eating, Ned and I went upstairs and I used his computer to put together a list of all the pawnshops in River Heights and the suburbs. “I figure the thief will want to pawn your camera,” I explained to him. “He could probably get a couple of hundred dollars for it. If I can find it in one of the pawnshops, then maybe I’ll be able discover who took it there.”

“You’re cute when you talk shop,” Ned said, tucking a wisp of my strawberry blond hair behind my ear.

“You know, there are a surprising number of pawnbrokers in River Heights,” I commented as I scanned the screen. “I mean, it’s not a big city.”

“Yeah, but it’s colorful,” Ned pointed out. “It’s a town that started with a heist, remember? The Rackham Gang, back in the eighteen hundreds? And there are certainly plenty of crooks nowadays, too.”

“Yeah, good point,” I said, laughing. “Anyway, I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me tomorrow.”

When we went back down, Ned’s parents were watching the news. The anchor-woman was reporting on the upcoming election for governor. “The Baxter campaign today called again for an investigation of Solomon Paper’s role in the high levels of chlorine compounds that have recently been detected in several species of river fish. Richard Solomon vigorously defended his company’s environmental record.”

The screen changed to show a shot of Richard Solomon standing in front of the Solomon Paper plant, which was located a few miles outside of River Heights. Solomon was tall, with graying dark hair swept back from a broad forehead.

“The claim that Solomon Paper has anything to do with these pollutants that have been found is ridiculous,” he was saying. “First of all, we phased out all use of chlorine bleach more than ten years ago. Seventy percent of our paper is made from recycled pulp, and the rest is made using chlorine-free bleaches. Second, we are a zero-discharge mill, meaning that we do not dump anything at all into this river or any other water system. Solomon Paper is the most environmentally friendly paper company you will ever find. Frankly, this is nothing but a witch hunt by the Baxter campaign because we’re ahead in the polls. Shame on them for using such tactics.”

“All right!” Ned cheered. “That’s telling them!”

“What does the Bugle say?” I asked Ned’s dad. “Is it going to back Richard Solomon for governor?” As James Nickerson was the publisher of the River Heights Bugle, I knew he’d be writing an editorial endorsing one of the candidates. But even though Ned was volunteering on Solomon’s campaign, Mr. Nickerson still hadn’t made up his mind whom to back. Ned had been working hard to convince his dad that Solomon was the right choice.

“Well, Raelene Baxter has more experience in state government, obviously, since she’s been lieutenant governor for the last eight years,” Mr. Nickerson said. He shook his head. “But Richard Solomon has some very interesting ideas. And he’s right about the Baxter campaign and this pollution issue. The Bugle has been looking into Solomon Paper’s environmental record, and as far as I can see, they’re squeaky clean—at least since Richard Solomon took over from his father.”

“What about before?” I asked.

He shrugged. “That was the bad old days, before the government cracked down on companies that polluted the environment. But old Mr. Solomon didn’t have the greatest reputation, I’ll say that. Apparently his motto was ‘profit, profit, profit,’ and he didn’t much care how he got it.”

“Sounds like a wonderful human being,” Mrs. Nickerson said with a wry smile.

I checked my watch. It was already past nine. “I’d better head home,” I said. “If I’m going to go running at six in the morning, I need my beauty sleep!”

“Thanks again, Nancy dear, for being here and taking such wonderful care of me,” Ned’s mother said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, bending down to give her a hug.

As I drove home I started making a list in my head of the first steps I needed to take in my new case. First of all I wanted to talk to anyone Ned or his parents thought might be a suspect. That list so far included only Lonny, the boat boy. Second, I would visit the local pawnshops and see if Ned’s camera had turned up anywhere.

Of course, I thought, we could be wrong about the burglar’s motive. Maybe whoever it was had just picked the Nickersons’ house at random, not even knowing about Mrs. Nickerson’s diamond bracelet. Still, the idea that someone was after the bracelet seemed like a good place to start.

I pulled into the driveway and let myself into my house, which was quiet and dark. My dad, who’s a criminal defense lawyer, was away at a conference in San Francisco. And Hannah Gruen, our live-in housekeeper, had already gone to bed.

I’d better do the same, I thought. Tomorrow is going to be a long day!

“I’m going to die,” Bess moaned. “Can we please... take a water break?”

“We’ve only jogged for three minutes so far,” I pointed out.

“That can’t... be right,” Bess panted. “It feels... like an... hour!”

True to her word, George had knocked on my kitchen door at five minutes before six that morning, Bess in tow. Bess was decked out in distressed jersey shorts with a designer logo across the rear, a matching hoodie, and pink-and-silver running shoes. George proudly showed off the heart-rate monitor strapped around her torso, as well as the odometer she wore clipped to her waistband to measure her distance and pace. “Let’s go!” she said. She clapped her hands together. “This is going to be great!”

“Yeah, right. Hey, Nancy,” Bess said as I hurried out the door, twisting my strawberry blond hair into a scrunchie with one hand while cramming the last of a piece of toast into my mouth with the other. “You know, your sweatpants are on inside out.”

I glanced down. Whoops! Bess was right—the fuzzy part was on the outside of my navy sweats.

“I’m starting a new style,” I said with a shrug. “It’s called ‘throw your clothes on in thirty seconds in the dark.’”

“I’m scared,” Bess whispered as George bounded off down the street. “No one should have so much energy at this time of the day. I swear there’s something wrong with her!”

I grinned. “Let’s just make sure we stick together, okay?”

It was a humid, gray morning, with shreds of fog just starting to break up in the daylight. George, who was already about twenty yards in front of us, circled back and fell into step beside me. “Let’s pick up the pace, guys!” She turned so that she was jogging backward. “We’ll take a water break at the end of the second mile, and do some crunches and push-ups while we’re getting our heart rates down.”

“The second mile?” I said. “Uh, George, how many miles are you planning for us to run?”

“Don’t worry, I’m starting us off slowly. Only three miles today,” George said. “I figure we’ll work our way up to four by the weekend, and then next week, we’ll get up to five, then six the following week. Plus we’ll do some intervals and hill-sprints for speed, and of course calisthenics for overall muscle tone. And I’ve got this high-protein diet we can follow—”

“Diet? Calesthenics? Hill-sprints?” I glared at her. What made everything so much worse was that she wasn’t even slightly out of breath. “George, this isn’t the Olympics!”

“No, but we can pretend it is,” George said happily.

“But Bess has never run before! And I haven’t run in a long time! We need to ease into it more gradually. Bess, help me out here!” I said, turning to her. “Why aren’t you arguing?”

Bess’s face was practically the same shade of magenta as her hoodie. “No... breath,” she gasped. “Sorry.”

“Suck it up!” George called. “Run through the pain!” She lengthened her stride and pulled ahead of us.

“I’m going to kill her,” I grumbled. “Is that okay with you, Bess?”

I glanced at Bess. She couldn’t spare the breath to answer, but she gave me a thumbs-up.

Soon I was feeling pretty breathless myself. Plus I had a mild cramp in my calf. But then I noticed that the route George had chosen was leading down to the river’s edge. Not only was it beautiful—a gravel trail wound along the riverbank, and the morning air was cool and soft—but it also led directly to the River Heights Country Club golf course. Which happened to be right next to the marina where my chief—well, to be honest, my only—suspect works! Score!

With an effort, I lengthened my stride to catch up with George. “We need... to take a break,” I puffed. “Turn left... at the marina... entrance.”

George consulted her odometer. “But that’s only a mile,” she said.

I gave her a look. “George. We’re dying. You keep going... if you want.”

George made a face. “Okay, okay. But I know you’re only doing this because you want to talk to the marina guy. You aren’t fooling me.” I’d brought my friends up to speed on my new case in an e-mail last night.

I grinned. “You know me too well,” I said.

She turned left down the marina driveway. Bess and I followed. The driveway was unpaved and covered with deep ruts, which were full of water from last night’s rain. I heard Bess squawk as she splashed through one by accident. “My shoe!”

I turned to glance over my shoulder at her. The next thing I knew, my sneaker was slipping out from under me on a muddy patch. Oh no! I was going down!

All Wet

SPLASH! I landed on my rear end in a puddle. Brown goo fountained up around me.

“Oh, ugghhh!” I gasped. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could, but the damage was done. My sweats were soaked through, and I was spattered with mud from head to toe.

“Nan, are you okay?” Bess cried. Pulling off her sweatshirt, she dabbed at me with it.

“Wow, that was a spectacular fall!” George added. I could tell that she was trying hard not to smile. I glared at her for a second, but I couldn’t keep it up. I burst out laughing. In a moment, all three of us were giggling like crazy people.

“Well, I don’t know how this is going to affect my investigation,” I said. “What do you think—do I look like a damsel in distress?”

“You look more like a damsel in dah mud,” Bess said, and started cracking up again.

As the three of us walked toward the marina, George sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What is that awful smell?”

“George!” Bess scolded. “It’s not Nancy’s fault! It’s the mud.”

But by then I’d caught a whiff of the odor too. It was faint but horrible—like a combination of stinky gym socks and rotten food. “Thanks for defending me, but I don’t think it’s the mud,” I said. “I’ve smelled that smell once before, when we went on that volunteer trip to that swamp, remember, where there was a toxic waste dump and we had to rescue the ducks?”

“You mean that smell is toxic waste?” Bess cried. “That’s terrible!”

“I don’t know if it’s toxic waste or if it’s something else, like swamp gas,” I said. “But, you know, there have been a lot of stories in the news recently about high levels of pollution in the river.”

“It’s a crime,” George said flatly. “If some company is dumping their toxic waste in the river, they should all go to jail.”

We were all silent for a moment. I agreed with George. I hated the thought of someone carelessly poisoning our gorgeous river.

The marina was a shabby little place, with five rickety wooden docks reaching out into the river. Eight or nine boats were tied up in slips, but most of the slips were empty. The office was a single-story cinder-block building set on the most distant dock. Tied alongside it was an ancient, rusty fishing trawler piled high with cement mooring blocks.

As we approached the office, the door opened and a tall, thin man in blue work overalls stepped out, carrying a toolbox. He squinted at us. “Can I help you girls?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

“We were wondering if we could use your restroom. I had a little accident in the mud,” I said, indicating my filthy outfit with a wave of my hand.

“It’s around the other side. I’ll have to unlock it for you. This way,” he said over his shoulder as he started off around the corner of the building.

“We’ll wait here,” George called after me as I followed.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it, Mr., uh...,” I said, hurrying to keep up with the man’s long stride.

“Snead. Bill Snead. I run the marina,” he told me.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Snead. I’m Nancy Drew. I was also looking for Lonny,” I added. “Is he working today?”

“He’ll be in at seven,” Mr. Snead said. “Something I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “See, Lonny rented a boat to my boyfriend and his dad on Sunday morning and I wanted to talk to him about that.”

“Sunday morning?” Mr. Snead said, halting to look at me. “What time?”

“Oh, really early,” I said, a little surprised. “Like five a.m.”

He frowned. “I was here Sunday morning. What do you want to know?”

“Um, well—” My mind raced as I tried to come up with an innocent-sounding question that only Lonny could answer. “Well, last night Ned showed me a bunch of pictures from the fishing trip and in one of them it looked like Lonny had a cool belt-clip case for his cell phone, and I wanted to ask where he got it so I could get one for Ned. Our anniversary is coming up.”

After a moment he shrugged, fished out his key ring, and unlocked the restroom door. “Guess you’re right, I can’t help you with that. Like I said, Lonny’ll be in at seven. You can wait for him if you want.”

“Thanks again,” I said, and stepped inside to wash up.

I peered at myself in the streaked mirror over the sink. My eyes looked bluer than usual against the big smear of mud on my cheek. Luckily my hair had miraculously stayed unsplashed. I washed my face and hands and took the scrunchie out of my hair, shaking it so that it fell around my face. There. With my cheeks still pink from the run, I looked halfway decent. That is, if you could ignore my muddy clothes, which nothing short of the “heavy soil” cycle on the washing machine could fix.

When I went back around to the front of the building, George and Bess were already in conversation with a guy who looked like he was around our age. He was beefy, with longish brown hair, and he wore jeans and a white muscle shirt. Lonny, I guessed from the description Ned had given me the night before. Luckily for me, he’d arrived early. As is usually the case with guys, Lonny obviously couldn’t keep his eyes off Bess.

“You look much better,” Bess greeted me. “Nancy, this is Lonny. Lonny was just telling us about his band.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Actually, I was hoping I could find you. My boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, was here with his dad on Sunday. Maybe you remember them. Ned’s dad fell in the river?”

Lonny let out a guffaw. “Oh, yeah, that guy. He was carrying a diamond bracelet in his pocket too. What a dimwit.”

“Right,” I said, keeping the smile on my face, though his comment annoyed me. “Well, anyway, I wanted to ask you...”

Mr. Snead, who was sorting coils of rope on the dock nearby, glanced up. I hadn’t been planning to use that lame story about the cell phone case, but I didn’t want to change it if he was listening. So I went through it again.

“Cell phone case?” Lonny shook his head. “I don’t use a case. Carry my phone in my pocket.” He fished it out to show me.

“Huh, that’s weird,” I said, trying to sound innocent and puzzled. “Well, I guess it must have been a funny shadow on the photo or something.”

“You got the picture on you?” Lonny asked. “Maybe I could figure out what it was you saw.”

“No, sorry,” I told him. “I don’t have a hard copy—I saw it on Ned’s laptop.” I paused, wondering how on earth I was going to change the subject to what he’d been doing the night before. Then I had an idea. “So what’s your band called?” I asked.

His eyes lit up. “Bucket of Blood,” he said proudly. “We rock! I play lead guitar.”

“Bucket of Blood?” Bess made a face.

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of you guys!” I said, giving him a big smile. “Didn’t you play a show at the university last night? I thought I saw a poster for you on a bulletin board there.”

“No, it wasn’t us,” Lonny said, and his face fell. “We’re, uh, still shopping our demo disc around. You know, looking for exactly the right gigs.”

Mr. Snead snorted. Picking up his coils of rope, he climbed aboard the old fishing trawler.

“Translation: They can’t get booked anywhere,” George whispered behind me. I kicked her discreetly. I didn’t want to upset Lonny.

Then Lonny added, “But if you want to hear us, you can come check us out anytime. We practice in my cousin’s garage every Monday and Thursday at six. It’s over on Elm Grove Road. Four fourteen Elm Grove.”

“Monday and Thursday at six?” I repeated. “Did you practice last night?”

“Oh, yeah. We never miss a jam,” Lonny assured me.

Hmm. That meant he couldn’t have been breaking into the Nickersons’ house yesterday at six, unless he was lying. “Isn’t six kind of early to play rock?”

“It’s the only time we have,” Lonny explained. “My cousin doesn’t get home from work till five thirty, and my aunt won’t let us play after eight. She says it annoys the neighbors. I say, if they aren’t rocking with us, who cares if they’re annoyed?” He sighed. “But my aunt is pretty hard to argue with.”

“Huh,” I said absently. I would drive over to Elm Grove Road and double-check what he had told me, of course, but I had a feeling he was telling the truth. That meant he couldn’t be the mystery burglar. “Well, thanks, anyway.”

“For what?” Lonny asked, looking puzzled.

“Uh... for... for telling us about your band,” I improvised. “We’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Oh, definitely,” Bess chimed in. “Bucket of Blood.”

“Not a name you can forget,” George added.

Lonny beamed. “It’s good, isn’t it? Why don’t you girls give me your e-mail addresses and I’ll put you on our mailing list. We got a website and everything.”

A look of panic crossed Bess’s face. “Uh, that sounds great,” I said quickly. “But we, um, don’t have any paper on us.” I gestured at our running outfits with an apologetic smile. “Why don’t you just tell me the name of your website and I’ll e-mail you with all our info when I get home. Which I have got to do before all this mud dries on me.”

“Oh, okay.” Lonny looked disappointed. “It’s BucketofBlood.com.”

“Of course,” George murmured.

“Thanks again. Let’s go, guys,” I said, turning to Bess and George.

“Bye,” Bess said as we headed back up the driveway.

“Later,” Lonny called.

“So, he’s not your burglar, huh?” George asked as soon as we were out of sight of the marina.

I shook my head. “Doesn’t look like he could have done it. Oh, well, it’s always good to cross a suspect off the list. I just wish my list was a little longer.”

“Ow,” Bess grumbled. “My leg hurts. I think I pulled a ligament or strained a tendon or something.”

“I think it’s called muscle use,” George teased. “Look, you guys, I’m letting you off easy because it’s our first day.”

“We know,” Bess said.

“We’re sorry,” I added.

“All I’m saying is, you’d better get psyched, because we’re going to do the whole distance tomorrow.” With that, George picked up her pace to a fast, effortless jog. “See you later!” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to stretch!”

“She’s a slave driver,” I muttered as we watched her go.

“But we love her, anyway,” Bess said with a grin.

As we headed off toward my house, it began to drizzle.

“Oh, perfect. I’m going back to bed,” Bess announced.

For a second I felt like doing exactly the same thing, but I couldn’t. I had to get going on my day. Even though my only firm suspect didn’t seem to be panning out, there was still a lot of legwork I could do to move this case along. There were pawnshops to visit, restaurant workers to interview...

As I started planning, I felt a familiar excitement bubble up inside me. It’s the feeling I get whenever I’ve got a good mystery on my hands. I was ready to get to work!

Snagged

I felt much better after I stretched, took a shower, and put on clean clothes. When I went down to the kitchen, Hannah was setting two places at the breakfast table. The smells of bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice swirled through the air, and my stomach instantly started to grumble.

“Yum, that smells so good!” I exclaimed. “What can I do to help?”

“You can sit yourself down and eat,” Hannah told me. “What with your father being away at that conference and you having your busy life, I feel as if I’ve been living in a ghost house! I need to feed you just to make sure you’re real.” Smiling to take the sting out of her words, she bustled over and set a heaping plate of bacon, eggs, and fresh-baked blueberry muffins in front of me.

“Sorry you’ve been abandoned,” I said, reaching up to give her a one-armed hug. “But I haven’t been having pure fun, believe me. I’ve got a new mystery to solve.” I told her about the burglary at the Nickersons’.

Hannah listened, shaking her head in sympathy. “Poor Mrs. Nickerson,” she said. “I’m going to take her a basket of muffins. And I think I’ll just whip up a pot of chicken soup in case she’s feeling bad again today.”

I smiled. Hannah’s remedy for whatever ails you is always food. She’s the best cook I know, though, so her method works more often than you might think.

I finished my breakfast, cleared my dishes, and then headed out to my car. By now it was about ten o’clock in the morning—too early for the restaurant where the Nickersons had eaten to be open, but not too early, I hoped, for some useful gossip. For that I had a great source: Harold Safer.

Harold owns Safer’s Cheese shop, the best place for cheese in River Heights (or, as Harold insists, the best place for cheese in the entire Midwest). He knows everything about food—and everything about all the restaurants and food people in the town.

The electronic bell on the door played the first few notes of “The Sound of Music” as I walked into his shop. Harold glanced up from the counter, where he was serving a woman, and gave me a wave, his round face breaking into a smile. “Nancy! Give me a minute, doll face. You have to hear my new recording of The Phantom of the Opera. It will give you chills, I promise!”

The other thing Harold knows everything—and I do mean everything—about is musical theater. He can sing you any song from any Broadway show, even the ones that no one else has ever heard of. He travels to New York at least twice a year just to see the new productions.

He finished ringing up his customer’s purchases and she left. “How’s business?” I asked.

He made a face. “Slow, slow, slow. Yesterday I only had six customers all day. If it wasn’t for my restaurant supply sideline, I’d be worried.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Business will pick up in a few days,” I assured him. “You know it always does. Anyway, I’m glad you’re not so busy right now. I was hoping you’d have a little time for gossip.”

Harold’s eyes lit up behind his glasses. He perched on his stool and put his elbows on the counter, resting his chin in his cupped hands. “I always have time for gossip. Who are we talking about?”

“Well, you supply cheese to Al di La, don’t you?” I asked. Al di La was the restaurant where the Nickersons had eaten on Sunday night.

“That’s right,” Harold confirmed. “Fabulous food, but oh, sister, look out for Rocco Vitale. You know, the chef-owner of the place. He’s a madman! My friend Lorna landed a job as a waitress there a few months ago. She was surprised the job was so easy to get, since the place is so popular. Well, she found out why.” He paused dramatically.

I leaned forward. “Why?” I asked.

Harold pursed his lips. “Lorna lasted all of three nights. The first two nights Rocco yelled at her so much, she cried herself to sleep. The third night he actually waved a cleaver at her. That’s when she quit. Now she’s working at Gelly’s Steakhouse. The tips aren’t as good, but at least she isn’t being threatened with sharp objects.”

Hmm. As interesting as this was, it didn’t sound like it was going to help me solve my mystery. “I don’t suppose this Rocco Vitale has a record for burglary, does he?” I asked halfheartedly.

“I doubt it,” Harold said. “He’s more of a crime-of-passion type of person.”

“I see. And do you know any of the people who work in the restaurant?”

Harold shook his head. “Just Lorna, but she’s not there anymore. I think it’s mostly students from the university who are trying to make some extra cash.”

I sighed. “Well, I have to say, this case isn’t exactly off to a running start. I guess I’d better start making the rounds of the pawnshops.”

“Pawnshops!” Harold cried. “Ooh, ooh, Nancy, can I please go with you? I promise I’ll be good and not get in your way. I just love the idea of going to a pawnshop. It’s so retro!” He hurried into the back and returned a moment later carrying a khaki trench coat. “I’ve even got the perfect outfit for it!”

I hid a smile. “Harold, you know you missed your calling. You should have been an actor.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” Harold told me. “I could see myself on Broadway, couldn’t you?” He pulled on his trench coat, belted it around his waist, checked his reflection in the long mirror behind the counter, then came around to join me. “But if you want to know the truth, I’m too chicken to try out. I went to an audition last year in New York and when the time came for me to get up there and sing, I just couldn’t do it.” He flipped the sign on the door to read closed, then held the door open and ushered me out. “Anyway, I love cheese almost as much as I love a good Broadway tune, so I’m doing all right here in River Heights.”

The first pawnshop we went to was on the far end of State Street, near Jeffries Autorama. Harold had popped his Phantom of the Opera CD into my car stereo, and as I turned off the ignition, the throbbing strains of Raoul and Christine singing “Think of Me” died away, to my secret relief. I prefer something with more of a beat.

I pushed open the pawnshop door and glanced around. It was a small room, with a row of TVs and stereos on a shelf behind the counter. Bracelets, rings, necklaces, and cuff links sparkled in a satin-lined glass display case. There were a few digital cameras and other small electronic items in another glass case to the right of the door. None of them looked like Ned’s, but I knew that pawnshops often kept more items in the back, only displaying the ones that were up for resale.

“Can I help you?” asked the heavyset man behind the counter.

I held out the notes Ned had written down for me about the camera’s make and model. “I’m looking for one of these,” I told him. “Do you have any?”

The man glanced at the paper, then shook his head and handed it back. “Nope. All I got in digital cameras is what you see here.”

Harold stepped up to the counter and leaned over it. “Listen, pal,” he growled. “Do yourself a favor and don’t lie to the lady, if you know what’s good for you, see?”

“Excuse me?” the man said, looking startled.

“I just—,” I began, but Harold cut me off.

“Let me handle this,” he said to me, and my jaw dropped as I realized that he was putting on a voice like someone from one of those old black-and-white gangster movies. He leaned farther over the counter and grabbed the pawnshop owner by his collar. “I think you understand me,” he snarled. “Now go in the back and get the goods for the lady, or else.”

“‘Or else’?” repeated the pawnshop owner. “Or else what? Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re wrinkling my shirt. Are you going to let go, or should I call the cops?”

“Harold!” I finally managed. I grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the counter. “Sorry,” I said to the pawnshop owner. “He’s just joking. Aren’t you, Harold?” Gripping his arm firmly, I steered him out of the pawnshop as quickly as I could.

“What on earth were you doing in there?” I demanded when we were out on the sidewalk.

“Not what, who,” Harold corrected me. “That was my Edward G. Robinson impression. Not bad, eh?”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “What I do know is that you can’t go around grabbing people by their collars and threatening them, Harold! Honestly!”

“But it was a pawnshop!” he protested. “A seedy place full of shady characters and stolen goods!”

“Maybe in the old movies you watch,” I told him. “But things have changed, Harold. Pawnshops are very strictly regulated now. The owners have to supply lists of their inventory, complete with make, model, and serial number, to the police every day. If they suspect something is stolen property, they report it. They’re businesspeople, not criminals. Okay, maybe some of them aren’t as careful as they should be about who they buy things from, but mostly they can’t afford to break the law.”

“Oh,” Harold said. He thought about it for a moment. “That’s not nearly as interesting as my version. Life in black and white was just so much more colorful.”

I laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “Now, how about in the next shop you leave the talking to me?”

Harold gave me a mock salute. “You’re the boss, boss.”

We went to four more pawnshops, and Harold managed to behave himself in all of them, but none of them had a camera like Ned’s. By that time, it was after one p.m., so Harold and I went back to his shop, where he made us a delicious lunch of bread and cheese with sliced apples and pears.

After that, I had to head over to the River Heights Animal Shelter—I volunteer there once a month. The vet was there, vaccinating the new puppies, so I held the little yappers while she stuck needles in them. It wasn’t pretty, but afterward I got to play with the puppies for a while.

At about six o’clock, I checked my cell phone, which I’d left in my car by accident, and saw that Ned had called twice. There was no message, so I called him back immediately. “Is everything okay? How’s your mom doing?” I asked when he answered his phone.

“Better than I am,” Ned replied. He sounded frustrated.

“Why? What’s up?” I asked.

“I can’t believe this week!” Ned groused. “It’s only Tuesday, right? That means there’s three more days for something to go wrong!”

“Ned,” I said, “just tell me what happened.”

“Another theft,” Ned said. “My laptop was stolen right out from under my nose!”

Suspicious Snapshot

“Oh no!” I exclaimed. “Your laptop was stolen? Ned, I’m so sorry! You are having a terrible week!”

“Tell me about it,” Ned said with a sigh. “What’s worse, my Victorian poetry paper was on that computer. It’s due Friday. Now I’ll have to rewrite the whole thing in three days.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I’m at the Solomon campaign headquarters,” Ned answered. “I came here to print out some flyers for the rally on Friday. I’d just set up my computer when all the power in the building went off. Of course there was a ton of confusion and we were all running around trying to figure out what had happened, and when the lights came back on, my computer was gone.”

“Did anyone call the police?”

“Yes, they’ve already come and gone. But what can they do? Once again, no one saw anything.”

“I’m on my way,” I promised, and hopped into my car. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

The campaign headquarters were on River Street, on the ground floor of a small brick building that housed an accountant’s office. A banner over the plate-glass window in the front read RICHARD SOLOMON FOR GOVERNOR.

I hurried inside and found Ned standing near the door, talking to Richard Solomon and a girl I recognized as Gretchen Hochman, one of Solomon’s campaign staffers.

“I’m telling you, it has to be them,” she was arguing. “I worked with their campaign manager two years ago, and I know there’s no dirty trick he wouldn’t pull. The Baxter campaign did this. Count on it!”

“I don’t know, Gretchen,” Solomon said, shaking his head. “It seems kind of, well, kooky. I mean, a smear campaign is one thing, but vandalism and theft? I just don’t see it. No, I think this was the work of some random criminal, nothing more.”

I slipped my hand into Ned’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, Nan,” he said with a strained smile. He quickly introduced me to Richard Solomon and Gretchen.

“Nancy Drew.” Richard Solomon shook my hand with a warm smile. In person he was younger looking than on TV. And his eyes were a surprising shade of green. “Surely I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you a detective?”

“That’s me,” I said.

“Nancy has a better track record of solving mysteries than the River Heights Police Department,” Ned boasted. “She’ll crack the case every time.”

“So I’ve gathered. Chief McGinnis and I play poker together every now and then,” Solomon told me. “I’ve heard him grousing more than once about how you made him look bad.” He chuckled. “I think you’re good for him.”

My cheeks turned pink. Something about the way he looked at me made me feel as if he was really paying full attention. I guess that’s called charisma, I thought.

“If you’re a detective, maybe you can look into what happened here,” Gretchen said. “I know it was the Baxter campaign. I just know it! They’re running scared, and they’re desperate.”

“Gretchen, come on,” Solomon protested. “I appreciate your loyalty, but you’ve got to let this idea go.”

“I’d be happy to take a look around,” I said, “though I have to say, I agree with Mr. Solomon. It seems unlikely the Baxter campaign would actually resort to crime, no matter how much they’re trailing in the polls.”

“Come on,” Ned said. “I’ll walk you through it.”

He led me over to a workstation close to the window. “This is where I was working,” he explained. “I’d just started printing when the lights went out.”

“About what time was this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe five o’clock.”

I frowned as I thought about this. “But it’s not fully dark at five at this time of year. What’s the point of putting out the lights? I mean, from a burglar’s point of view?”

“We had all the blinds closed because the sunset was creating glare on the computers,” Ned said. “So actually it went pitch-dark in here.”

I nodded. “Okay. So then what?”

“Then we all jumped up and started yelling and running around like idiots, bumping into one another and the furniture,” Ned confessed. “Finally Richard found his way to the door, went down to the basement, and flipped the breakers back on. The whole thing probably took about ten minutes.”

“Was anything taken besides your computer?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know,” Ned answered. “It was the only laptop in here—all the other computers are desktops. But nobody’s purse or wallet got taken or anything like that.”

“I see,” I said. I gazed around the room, my eyes narrowing as I thought. “You know, now that I look at the setup, I can’t help wondering if Gretchen might be onto something.”

“What, you mean you think the Baxter campaign stole my laptop?” Ned exclaimed, his eyes widening. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know if it was the Baxter campaign or someone else,” I replied. “But one thing I am pretty sure of: This was not a random crime committed by someone who was just going for something of value.”

Ned folded his arms. “How do you figure?”

I gestured around the room. “Look at this place. It’s full of desks and computer equipment and tangles of cables on the floor. And your workstation is nowhere near the door. If someone was just looking to snatch something fast, they’d go for the stuff that’s much more easily reachable. It would be way too easy to trip over something or someone in the dark and get caught.”

There was another thing on my mind, but I didn’t want to mention it to Ned just yet, because I knew it would upset him. The way I was thinking, there was a good possibility this was an inside job.

“Can you remember who was in the room and where they were when the lights went out?” I asked him.

Ned blew out his breath in a long sigh. “There were a lot of people here. Me, Richard, Gretchen, Mike, Tony, Cassandra.” He waved his arm at three other volunteers, who were talking by