008 Two Points to Murder (7 page)

Finally, they came to a fork. Nancy looked both ways but saw no one in the dim light. Which way had he gone?

"Should we split up?" George asked.

"No, I may need your help when we catch him." Nancy slipped off her jacket.

Bess shucked off her coat, too. "I say we split--period! Let's find the fastest way out of here. I'm dying of the heat!"

Nancy wiped her forehead. "The joker's probably thinking that way, too. The question is, which is the shortest way out?"

They took the right branch. Two turns and a fifty-yard stretch later, they found themselves in a large basement. The word
Jenkins
was painted on the wall.

"This is one of the dormitories!" Nancy said. "Ned lived here before he joined his fraternity. Come on!"

Together they ran up a flight of stairs, down a brightly lit hallway, and out a door. They were outside again! Quickly Nancy looked around, searching for familiar landmarks.

"There! The smokestack!" she shouted. "Let's go!"

It took less than a minute to return to the heating plant, but by then it was too late. As they rounded the corner of the building and spotted the shipping yard, Nancy let out a howl of pent-up rage.

The Camaro was gone!

"It's my fault. I should have sent one of you back for the police. Or even for the license number," Nancy said.

It was the next morning. Nancy, Bess, and George were eating breakfast in a big, airy dining hall.

"Don't kick yourself too hard," George advised her. "It was a tense situation, and you did what you thought best."

"Yes, but look where it got us . . . nowhere! Now we're back to square one." Nancy groaned.

"Not exactly," Bess interrupted.

"What do you mean?" Nancy asked, looking over at her blond friend.

Until now, Bess's nose had been buried in the most recent issue of the student newspaper. She had picked it up on their way into the dining hall and had hardly looked up since.

"I've just eliminated one of our suspects," she announced.

"You're kidding! How?"

"By reading this paper. See? This article says that Tom Stafford led a debate against Fielding College last night."

"So?" George demanded.

"The debate began at five
P.M.
, the same time that the bus's tire was shot!"

"Therefore, Tom couldn't have done it," Nancy concluded.

"Right!"

"Wait a minute," George objected. "What about his loyal followers . . . couldn't one of them have done it?"

Nancy considered that idea. "No, I don't think so. Remember seeing them outside the sports complex? They weren't as fanatical as Tom."

"I think Tom's the only one crazy enough to do something like that."

"How would you know, Bess? You've never even seen him!" George pointed out.

"True, but so what? Admit it, George--you're just disappointed that your favorite suspect is out of the running."

George grinned. "Well, maybe I am."

"I'd better tell Ned about this," Nancy said, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair and pulling it on.

George nodded. "Good idea. A healthy one, too." She pushed aside her tray with a grimace. "I hate to say it, but the food here is terrible!"

"You said it," Bess agreed. "Those pancakes taste like rubber."

Nancy had barely touched her breakfast. How could she eat when everything was such a mess? She was making little progress with the case, and as for her relationship with Ned--that seemed to be going backward!

Outside, the sky was gray and threatening. The forecast was for snow, and it appeared to be only a matter of time before the storm began. Nancy hurried across the campus, her head down, her spirits very low.

Were things between her and her boyfriend ever going to return to normal? When they'd disagreed over Mike it had torn her apart, and now there was something worse: the possibility that Ned was accepting cash to play for Emerson.

Nancy felt angry whenever she thought about that. Ned--
her
Ned--taking bribes? It was ridiculous! And yet, why keep her from investigating Mike? Why work against her when solving the case would help his team? There was also the silver bracelet. Nancy had taken it off the day before and hidden it away. Looking at it made her very uncomfortable.

She couldn't continue living with these ugly suspicions, she knew. She had to talk to him. She had to find out the truth!

Ned was at the sports complex studying a videotape of the Haviland game. Nancy slipped into the viewing room quietly. For a moment she studied
him
. In his jeans and rust-colored crewneck sweater, he looked as adorable as ever. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

"Admiring yourself again, Nickerson?" she said. She tried for a teasing tone, but the words came out all wrong.

Ned turned. "Oh, it's you."

"I thought you'd like to know that I've ruled out Tom Stafford as a suspect," she said quickly.

"Great," he nodded. "That leaves only Ray Ungar, right?"

"Uh . . ."

Ned's dark eyes narrowed. His square-cut face grew hard. "Don't bother to say it, Nancy. I can read it in your expression. You still think Mike is guilty."

"Ned, what if he
is
! Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong?"

"Sure it has. But I'm not changing my position. I know Mike. If he's mixed up in anything funny, then sooner or later he'll come clean."

"Oh, Ned."

This wasn't going at all the way she had hoped it would. Instead of mending fences they were getting ready for another argument.

"Look," Nancy said. "Let's not talk about that. There's something else I want to discuss with you. It's about--"

She never finished her sentence. Just then her eyes shifted to the TV screen, where the tape of the Haviland game was still playing.

"Ned, stop the tape!" she shouted. "I think I just spotted the practical joker!"

Chapter Ten

"
N
ED,
I
'M SERIOUS
. Stop the tape and rerun it," Nancy repeated.

Ned was looking at her strangely, but the urgency in her voice was too powerful to ignore. Reaching over, he pressed several buttons on the VCR. The tape stopped and began to rewind.

"How far?" he asked.

"Just a couple of feet," she said. She stepped close to the screen as the tape started again. "Okay, right here . . . watch what happens to the camera!"

The scene was a play toward the end of the game's first half. The Emerson players brought the ball down court, dribbling and passing with deadly skill. Ned then set a classic "pick," blocking the Haviland player guarding Mike. Mike drove to the basket and scored two points.

"What's so special about that?" Ned wanted to know. "All that's happening is--"

"
There!
" Nancy jabbed the freeze-frame button. "It's not the play, it's what happens when it's over . . . see? Somebody knocks the camera and it picks up part of the audience."

"Yes, but--"

"Look closely. Who's that?" Nancy pointed to a blurry but recognizable figure.

"Ray Ungar!" Ned gasped. His astonishment faded quickly, though. "I don't get it, Nancy. What does this prove?"

Nancy unzipped her jacket and dropped into the chair next to Ned's. "Didn't you tell me that Ray never goes to Wildcat games?"

"Yes. He once swore he'd never attend another one as long as he lives."

"Yet there he is among the spectators! Don't you find that odd?"

Understanding flashed in Ned's eyes. "It was a deliberate deception, you mean? We were told we wouldn't see him, therefore we didn't?"

"Right! And it allowed Ray to do what he really wanted to do--sit in the bleachers and enjoy the effects of his practical jokes!"

Beaming, Ned leapt up and crushed her in a joyful hug. "Nancy, you've done it again! Now Mike is in the clear!"

It felt wonderful to have Ned's arms around her again. As she hugged him back, though, something nagged at the back of her mind. After a minute, she pulled away.

"Ned, play it over again, will you?"

"Sure thing. Wait until everyone sees this!"

Nancy shook her head as the scene unfolded once more. The camera focused on Ray for only a second or two, but it was long enough for her to realize that she had been wrong.

"I'm sorry, Ned, but it looks to me like Ray is cheering Mike's basket."

Ned's face fell. "What are you saying?"

"That Ray can't be the practical joker. If he were, then why would he cheer for the Wildcats?"

"But, Nancy, you just said--"

"I know. I spoke too soon."

They reran the tape several more times, but each viewing only reinforced Nancy's belief that her theory was incorrect. Why Ray was supporting Emerson she didn't know, but he was no longer her prime suspect.

Ned reacted angrily. "I don't believe this! One minute you're telling me Mike is okay, and the next you're accusing him again!"

"I can't help it. Facts are facts."

"What
facts
? That tape doesn't clear Ray."

Not totally, she had to agree. It was possible--just possible--that even though he was cheering for Emerson he was still responsible for the pranks. But Nancy didn't think so.

"Ned, Ray isn't the practical joker. It's just common sense," she stated.

"Oh, sure. He dumps on the team, even holds a pistol to your head, and you call it common sense? Wake up, Nancy! Ray's crazy! Can't you see that?"

"Maybe, but that doesn't make him guilty."

"It doesn't make him look very innocent, either."

"Ned, all we have against Ray are suspicions. With Mike we have hard evidence!"

"That box of packing chips?" Ned snorted. "That's not enough for me. If you're going to change my mind, you'll have to show me more."

Furious, Nancy rose from her chair. All at once she was fed up with Ned's attitude. Why did he have to be so pig-headed? Why did he have to fight her this way? She clenched her fists.

"All right, Nickerson. It's evidence you want? Then evidence you'll get!" She was trembling. "And don't try to stop me!"

"Nancy, what are you planning?"

"Why should I tell you?" she cried.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

She laughed bitterly. "Ha! I don't think you care about me at all!"

With that, she whirled around and stormed from the room.

Nancy was still seething that night as she stood outside the sports complex. Over and over again she pictured Ned's stubborn expression and heard his hostile words. I'll show him, she thought.

Snow was swirling around her, but she didn't go inside. Instead, she stood in the shadows, watching the building's entrance. Once in a while she stamped her feet or rubbed her arms.

She checked her watch. The illuminated dial read 11:35
P.M.
There was still time, she knew, but she was mildly worried. The building would close for the night in twenty-five minutes.

Finally, she got her chance. Through the glass entrance doors she saw the security guard leave his desk. Quickly she ran up and slipped inside. She had done it! She had gotten in without signing the guest register!

Walking casually, she made her way to the girls' locker room, entered a toilet stall, locked the door, stood on the seat . . . and waited.

Midnight arrived. As it did, the security guards swept through the building to make sure it was empty. Because they were male, Nancy guessed that they would give the girls' locker room only a superficial glance. She was right. No one bothered to check the stall in which she was hidden, even though its door was shut and locked.

The lights went out. Nancy waited ten minutes, then moved. Her destination lay down a side hall, away from the main thoroughfares, so she didn't have to worry much about running into one of the security guards. Along a row of administrative offices she did have to dart past one lighted doorway, though. Who would still be working at this hour? she wondered briefly. The next moment she forgot her question and continued on.

The basketball team's locker room was open, she found. Slipping inside, she took her car flashlight from her jacket and flipped it on. One by one, she scanned the names taped to the face of each locker until she came to the one she wanted.

Michael O'Shea
.

Fortunately, Mike kept an ordinary padlock on his locker. Nancy could crack simple combination locks with no problem, but key types were easier. She drew her lockpick from her pocket and quietly went to work.

She had it open in less than a minute. Mike had the usual assortment of junk in his locker: towels, uniform, sneakers, hand weights, knee brace, ointments, and a sports magazine. He also had an envelope that contained two thousand dollars in twenty-dollar bills, and a list of Emerson's opponents. Beside each one was a negative number: -10, -14, -6, -17. . . .

What did the numbers mean? Nancy hadn't the slightest idea. She was positive about one thing, though: Mike was up to no good!

Suddenly she froze. Footsteps were coming down the hall!

She had to hide. Glancing around quickly, she noticed several old, unused locker sections against one wall. Should she slip into one of those? No, she decided. It would be a tight squeeze and they might not open from the inside. Where then? The showers?

She spotted a better place--the sauna! Darting across the room, she pulled open its wooden door and zipped inside. Through the narrow window in the door, she saw the lights in the locker room come on.

Nancy shrank back against an interior wall, her heart racing. Too late, she realized that she had forgotten to shut Mike's locker! Oh, well. There was nothing she could do about that now. If she was lucky the security guard--or whoever--would think that Mike himself had forgotten to close it. Swallowing hard, she held still and listened.

Outside, there was silence. Then some bumping and scraping began. It sounded as if equipment was being moved around, but she couldn't be sure. Who was it? A janitor mopping floors? Nancy remained motionless as several loud clunks sounded right outside the sauna door.