025 Rich and Dangerous

N
ANCY
D
REW, PLEASE
meet your party at the registration desk in the main lobby—”

The words filtered into eighteen-year-old Nancy Drew’s mind from what seemed like miles away. At last, she really was at the Plaza Hotel, away from River Heights, away from her detective work, and all ready to meet her dad for a long weekend in New York City.

Nancy made her way to the registration desk, her bright blue eyes taking in everything. Bellhops in immaculate dark blue uniforms walked purposefully over the thick forest-green-and-rose-patterned
carpeting, while the hotel’s fashionably dressed clientele ambled through the lobby, past glittering shops and newspaper stands that offered periodicals from all over the world.

Good old Dad, thought Nancy with an appreciative smile. He certainly knows how to pick a hotel.

It was going to be great spending the weekend in New York. Of course, the real reason for the trip was that Carson Drew was attending the annual Interpol convention. His work at his law firm often involved him in matters that fell under the jurisdiction of the international police organization. But between meetings he was sure there’d be time for the two of them to go to the theater, museums, and fine restaurants. Nancy planned to do some shopping while her father was busy at the convention.

“Hi, Dad!” she called. Carson Drew was standing at the desk, waiting for her. With his handsome profile and his dark hair, slightly graying at the temples, he looked the part of a successful attorney.

“Hello, Nancy!” he called back, waving. “Ready to check in?”

“Yes,” she said. “I was just wandering around, mesmerized by this place. It’s so elegant.”

“And this is only the lobby.” Carson laughed. “Wait till you see where we’re staying. It’s one of the penthouse suites.”

Nancy threw her father an amused look. “You mean the ones they reserve for royalty?”

“Well, the last person to stay in it was Prince Ururu of Rarotonga, I’m told. Apparently, he came to the States for his annual fishing expedition, but he had to leave early—some kind of trouble in paradise. He left his gear in one of the closets, but I told the manager we could work around it.”

“Fantastic! How did you rate such a place?”

“I guess Interpol is showing their appreciation for my services,” Carson answered modestly, handing Nancy the registration book.

“I’m impressed, Dad,” Nancy said, signing in. “But not surprised. You’re one of the hardest-working people I know.”

A good-looking hotel clerk handed Nancy a key. “Thank you, Miss Drew,” he said. “Have a pleasant stay.”

“Thanks,” Nancy replied as she slipped her arm into her father’s.

“Of course, I never did tell you about Great-uncle Drew, the Archduke of Hapsburg,” Carson joked, leading her to the elevator. “Maybe
that’s
how we got the penthouse. . . .”

With a laugh, Nancy stepped onto the mahogany-paneled elevator and pressed
P.
This weekend was going to be everything she’d imagined it would be—she could just tell. She allowed herself a smile of pure happiness as the elevator whisked them upward.

At their floor, Carson stepped through the elevator doors. “Well, here we are. The building doesn’t go any higher than this.”

Nancy followed him out into the thick-carpeted hallway and down the long corridor. Soon he stopped at a set of intricately carved double oak doors and drew out his key.

“The suite you ordered, Miss Drew.” Carson opened the door and switched on the light. They were inside a room the size of a small house, filled with antique furnishings. A leather divan was placed opposite an intricately carved marble fireplace, and two leather club chairs flanked it.

“This is my room—” Carson opened a door and showed Nancy a spacious room decorated in understated masculine tones. “And just across this little hall—” Now he flung open the door to Nancy’s room. The first thing that caught her attention was the large window with the panoramic view of Fifth Avenue. Then her eyes took in the silk damask wall covering, decorated with work by artists Nancy had only seen in museums.

“I had the bellhop bring up your bags,” said Carson with a satisfied smile. “You can unpack if you like. I’ve got to make a few phone calls before dinner.”

“Oh. Well, Dad, knowing you, a few phone calls may take quite a while. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to wander around for a bit.” With a wink and a smile, Nancy was out the door.

• • •

An hour later Nancy stepped off the elevator at the top floor and headed back to her suite. The hotel really was as magnificent as she’d always heard.

She was about to fish her key out of her bag when the door to the neighboring suite burst open, and a knot of four people poured out into the hallway, creating a commotion that made Nancy stop and listen.

The group was obviously dominated by an old lady—well, not old exactly; she was probably only in her fifties, but the obvious signs of ill health made her seem older. She was thin— emaciated really—and her pale face was made up with ruby-red lipstick and blusher, which matched the ruby earrings she was wearing. But the rich color couldn’t hide her pallor.

Walking slowly on the arm of a handsome middle-aged man, she was complaining to her companions in a voice more powerful than Nancy would have thought possible.

“Why can’t one of you keep track of these things?” she demanded. “My medicine is the only thing that’s keeping me alive. Why is it that you allow it to run low so often? Sometimes I think you’re all stealing it to sell on the black market!”

The three other people in the party looked at one another, as if to say, “You know how she is when she’s in one of her moods.” As they passed, Nancy pretended to have trouble with her key,
taking the moment to get a better look at her weekend neighbors.

There was a tall middle-aged woman with stringy hair, dressed in clothes at least ten years out of date. She cringed at the old woman’s every word, as if she were being tortured rather than reprimanded. Nancy thought she detected a resemblance between the two women—at least, in their faces. Their attitudes, however, could not have been more different.

The man who was guiding the old woman was dressed in a conservative dark blue suit. He had a look of studied patience, as if he were merely waiting for the woman to blow off her steam. He was a distinguished-looking man and appeared to be totally at ease in the very expensive suit he was wearing.

The fourth member of the party was the most interesting to Nancy. For one thing, he was one of the handsomest guys she had ever laid eyes on. He looked about twenty-two, with jet black hair and light blue eyes—a killer combination. He was hanging back from the rest of the party, toying with the key in the lock.

“There,” he said at last, jogging to catch up with the others as they rounded the corner of the hall on their way to the bank of elevators. Nancy could hear him speaking. “Here’s your key back, Aunt Sarah. Though why we even bother to lock the place is beyond me.”

“Goodness knows, you’d leave the door wide
open if it was up to you, Jack,” his aunt Sarah huffed.

“After all, that’s what hotel security’s for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, you’d leave everything to others, wouldn’t you?” the old lady shot back. “If it were up to you, I’d run out of medicine completely!”

“Now, now, Aunt Sarah, you know it’s your own fault. Lately you’ve been wolfing down that stuff. Remember, we have to send to Mexico for it.”

They were gone now, in the elevator, out of earshot. Nancy shook her head in amusement. Rich people could be as strange as everyone else, she knew. Once again she put her key in the keyhole, this time for real.

That’s when she noticed something strange. The door that the handsome young man had appeared to be locking was, in fact, not locked at all. Instead, it was about half an inch open.

That’s odd, Nancy thought. He took so much time at the door; he must have left it open on purpose. But why?

She walked to the door, intending to close it. But as she moved forward, she stumbled and grabbed at the doorknob. The door swung wide open, pulling Nancy into one of the most opulent rooms she had ever seen. Crystal chandeliers, edged in gold, threw soft, shimmering light on the plush furniture. This single main room was the size of the entire Drew suite.

Somehow, as impressed as she had been by everything she’d seen at the Plaza, this was the most incredible part of all. Huge windows looked out on Central Park. The entire city lay beneath her, as if curled up at her feet. Nancy took the view in with a sigh, then reminded herself that she wasn’t even supposed to be in there.

A huge oak table in the center of the room caught her eye. On it, several cards were laid out in a distinct pattern. Nancy recognized them as fortune-telling tarot cards.

She went over to take a closer look at them. Too bad she knew nothing about the tarot, she thought. The cards were extremely interesting looking. There was one of a hanged man, one of a sad boatman paddling across a river, several with swords on them, and even one that said Death, with a picture of the Grim Reaper on it.

Nancy shuddered involuntarily. It was all vaguely creepy.

Just as she was about to leave, Nancy caught a soft, rhythmic scratching noise coming from behind the closed door of one of the bedrooms. Her senses immediately alert, she stood still and strained to hear. Could there be a prowler in the suite?

There was the noise again! Making up her mind, Nancy strode over and flung open the door to the bedroom. If there was anyone there, she’d have the advantage of surprise.

She almost laughed out loud when she saw the pigeon on the ledge outside the window. It was scraping its claws along the granite. So that was her prowler! Boy, Drew, you really
do
need a vacation, she reproved herself.

Just then she heard the soft creak of the suite’s front door, and instinctively she ducked inside the open bedroom and pulled the door closed.

Her heart pounding, Nancy watched through the keyhole as someone stepped into the suite’s main room. It was the gorgeous guy. He looked around quickly to make sure he wasn’t being observed. Then he smiled tensely and walked over to a desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and took out a wad of bills. As he fanned them, Nancy was almost positive she could see Benjamin Franklin’s face on every one. They were hundred-dollar bills!

Looking over his shoulder again, the young man pocketed the money and went out quickly, this time locking the door for real.

Nancy let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. No way could that have been his own money, she thought. He’d acted too sneaky. He had to be stealing from his own family, and with a smile, too!

For the first time since she’d ducked inside, Nancy looked around at the room she was in. It was an absolute shambles. Clothes were strewn all over the bed—women’s clothes. By the looks
of them, Nancy could tell they belonged to the woman with the stringy hair. This must be her bedroom.

On the desk by the window were several pieces of crumpled paper. Nancy didn’t touch them. Her sense of propriety told her she had already ventured much too far into these people’s private world.