037 Last Dance (11 page)

While Laurie was still standing there stunned in the doorway of the kitchen, Brenda lifted the camera she was wearing around her neck and snapped a picture. Laurie blinked, temporarily blinded by the flash, then turned and stumbled away.

Nancy started to follow Laurie, but Brenda stepped in front of her, blocking the door. “I’ll talk to you later!” Nancy said angrily, pushing past Brenda.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Brenda called after Nancy, her voice brimming with fake sweetness. “I’ll have the arson figured out by the time you get back,”

Nancy ignored Brenda’s taunt and hurried outside to the parking lot. Laurie was just getting into her red Mustang.

“Laurie, wait!” Nancy shouted.

Laurie paused long enough to give Nancy a single confused look of defiance and pain. Then she got behind the wheel of her car. Before Nancy could reach the car, the engine roared to life. Laurie’s tires squealed against the asphalt as she jammed the gearshift into reverse.

“Laurie!” Nancy called again, really frightened now.

The red Mustang passed Nancy and picked up speed as Laurie moved it out of the parking lot and headed for the main road.

Nancy ran for her own car. Moments later she was following Laurie. This was all Brenda’s fault, she thought, as she chased her friend along the highway. If anything happened to Laurie . . .

Nancy stopped herself from thinking that way. Instead, she concentrated on keeping Laurie in sight, silently urging her friend to stop.

Laurie was just ahead, driving carelessly. She weaved back and forth across the center line, and when she came to a turn, she swerved far into the other lane.

Nancy was holding her breath, afraid to take her eyes from the road or the car ahead.

“Laurie, please slow down,” she whispered. There was a particularly sharp curve coming up, and, as Nancy had feared, Laurie again swerved wide of the double yellow lines. But this time she found herself roaring head on toward an enormous truck.

Nancy’s heart rose into her throat as she watched. The truck’s horn screamed a warning, and Laurie’s car veered wildly to the right back across the road. It slammed through a white board fence and dead into a tree.

“Oh,
no!”
Nancy cried.

Both Nancy and the truck driver stopped as quickly as they could, but it was Nancy who reached Laurie’s car first. The front of the Mustang was crumpled in, and there was steam coming from under the hood.

At least Nancy hoped it was steam, and not smoke.

Through the window, she could see Laurie slumped over the wheel. Nancy frantically grabbed at the car door and yanked, but it wouldn’t give.

Just as the truck driver reached the Mustang,
Nancy was running around the car to try the other door. Like the one on the driver’s side, it was jammed.

“I called for help on the CB,” the truck driver said, pulling to get the door open. “The police will be here any minute, along with an ambulance.” He was a big man, as tall as Ned, with well-developed muscles, but he was no more successful at freeing Laurie than Nancy had been.

Nancy pounded on the windshield in a desperate attempt to get some reaction from Laurie. Again and again she called her friend’s name.

The front of the car was folded accordion-style, and the white clouds were still escaping from under the hood.

“Is it going to catch on fire?” Nancy asked, her heart beating double-time at the prospect.

The name Fred was stitched on the pocket of the driver’s shirt. “I don’t think so,” he said, turning and running for his truck.

In the far distance Nancy could hear the first strains of sirens. Please hurry, she pleaded silently.

Fred returned carrying a crowbar. Working swiftly and skillfully, he began prying at the door on Laurie’s side.

An ambulance and a police car rounded the curve just then, squealing to a stop behind the truck. Fred got the door open when Nancy had to
step aside so that the paramedics could free Laurie from her seat belt.

Nancy bit down hard on her lower lip as she waited.

A young police officer appeared beside her. “What happened here, miss?” she wanted to know.

Nancy could see that Laurie’s head was bleeding. She wanted to rush up and demand to know whether her friend was all right or not, but she knew how important it was to let the paramedics do their jobs. Laurie’s life was hanging in the balance.

Nancy took a deep breath. Never taking her eyes of Laurie, she answered the police officer’s question. “Her name is Laurie Weaver, and she’s my friend. She was upset and was driving a little recklessly. She came around that curve back there in the wrong lane and to avoid colliding with the truck swerved and crashed into this tree.”

They were lifting Laurie out of the car and putting her on a gurney, and Nancy couldn’t believe how still Laurie was lying. Her skin was as pale and luminous as wax, her forehead bleeding. She didn’t look as if she was alive.

Nancy turned her eyes to one of the paramedics, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Please tell me,” she said quietly, “is my friend all right?”

Neither answered. The two men were completely absorbed with Laurie. While Nancy watched, one of them pressed an oxygen mask to Laurie’s face and the other hooked her up to an IV.

Nancy pressed closer. “Laurie?”

Laurie didn’t move a muscle or make a sound. Nancy could see her friend’s chest rising and falling, but that didn’t mean she was breathing on her own. The paramedic was giving her oxygen.

“You’ll have to stay back, miss,” one of them said to Nancy in a kind voice.

Nancy retreated another step. “Laurie?” she said again.

But Laurie didn’t stir. She just lay there. Nancy felt tears springing to her eyes.

Would Laurie ever wake up?

T
HEN, SUDDENLY
, a strangled whisper came from Laurie’s throat, filling Nancy with relief.

Laurie was regaining consciousness!

The paramedic spoke as he and his companion lifted the gurney and carried Laurie quickly to the ambulance. “She’s waking up,” he said, “but she’s not out of danger.”

Nancy understood only too well. “Can I ride with her?” she asked, watching as Laurie was lifted into the back of the ambulance.

The paramedic nodded. “That would probably be a good idea. Talk to your, friend and try to keep her awake. She may have a concussion.”

Nancy scrambled quickly into the back of the ambulance and knelt beside Laurie, The other paramedic was hooking Laurie up to equipment that would monitor her vital signs.

“What happened?” Laurie asked in a small, frightened voice.

“You had an accident,” Nancy answered, gently touching Laurie’s hand. “You were upset by Brenda Carlton and what she said about Jon, remember? You got into your car—”

Laurie closed her eyes as the memories returned. “I remember now,” she said. “Was anyone else hurt?”

Nancy shook her head. “No,” she answered.

“I nearly collided with a truck.”

Nancy nodded.

“But the driver’s all right?”

Again, Nancy nodded. A huge lump was rising on Laurie’s forehead, but the paramedic had managed to stop the bleeding.

“I shouldn’t have been so. careless,” Laurie managed to say. “I tried to stop on the highway when I saw you behind me, but—”

Nancy’s hand tightened around Laurie’s. “You tried to stop?” she asked, not sure that she’d heard right.

There was a dazed expression in Laurie’s eyes. “I kept pumping the brakes, but they were gone.” She closed her eyes again. “I was so scared, Nancy.”

“I know,” Nancy answered. Though her voice was calm, her mind was racing. Had someone tampered with Laurie’s brakes? But who?

They reached the hospital as Nancy kept turning that question over in her mind. Laurie was wheeled into the emergency room, and Nancy went directly to the telephone to call Laurie’s parents.

Mrs. Weaver arrived first, since she’d been at home. She was dressed in her gardening clothes, and her eyes were wide with worry. “What happened?” she cried, clutching Nancy’s hands.

Nancy explained quietly and clearly. When Mr. Weaver dashed in a few seconds later Nancy had to tell the story again.

There was nothing Nancy could do at the hospital, so she left and walked a few blocks to a nearby towing company. Within minutes, she was back at the scene of the accident.

The tow truck driver shook his head as he assessed the damage to Laurie’s car. “It looks like a total loss to me,” he said.

Nancy had no doubt that he was right. “Would you mind checking to see if the brakes have been tampered with?” she asked.

The mechanic gave a curious look, but he dropped to his knees and looked beneath the car. A minute passed before he answered, “Yep. Somebody cut the brakelines, real neat and tidy.”

Nancy had hoped that her .guess was wrong,
but the tow truck driver had just confirmed her worst suspicions.

She gave the driver Laurie’s address and phone number and walked to her own car. “Thanks,” she called, before getting behind the wheel.

Knowing George would be really worried, Nancy drove straight back to Moves. George was waiting in the parking lot, and she slid into the passenger seat the moment Nancy stopped.

“Did you catch up with Laurie?” George asked.

Nancy sighed. “Sort of. She crashed through a fence, George, and she’s in the hospital right now.”

George stopped in the middle of fastening her seat belt. She looked shocked. “Is she all right?”

“I’m not sure,” Nancy answered. “She was conscious. Her parents are with her now.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“Yes,” Nancy answered, the memory filling her mind. “Laurie was driving too fast, but she told me that she tried to stop when she saw me behind her. The brakelines were cut, George—I had the tow truck driver check.”

George gasped. “This person is playing for keeps. Whoever it is. Any ideas?”

“It could be Jon. There’s a lot of evidence piling up against him. But it was
Adam
I saw inside the club, during the fire. I know I decided he was innocent, but now I can’t help thinking
that he might have dumped Laurie in that cellar just before I got to him. And Ned told me once that Adam enjoys working on cars—he’d know how to cut a brakeline.”

They were passing the place where Laurie had gone through .the fence. The tow truck was still there, backed up to Laurie’s car. George seemed deep in thought.

“Jon could have done it—or paid someone else to take care of it for him,” she suggested after a long time.

Nancy nodded. “You’re right,” she said, thinking of all the reasons she had to suspect Jon Villiers. He’d lied on several occasions. He had a criminal record. He was in debt. In fact, considering what he might get from the insurance, it was entirely possible that he’d tried to burn down his own club. He’d tried to break up with Laurie once, and there was—or had been—something going on between him and Pam Hastings.

Still, Nancy sensed that Jon cared for Laurie. Deeply.

“Basically,” she told George, “we’re back to square one. Somebody is either trying to kill Laurie or scare her away, and we still don’t know who that somebody is. Or why they’re doing it.”

“We’ll find out,” George said confidently, but she looked a little doubtful.

Within minutes they were pulling into the hospital parking lot.

“Are you going to tell Laurie’s parents about the brakelines?” George asked.

“I have to tell the police,” Nancy replied, “They’ll probably pass the word on to the Weavers.”

George nodded her agreement as they entered the emergency room and stepped up to the desk.

“We’re friends of Laurie Weaver’s,” Nancy said to the nurse in charge.’ “Could you please tell us how she’s doing?”

The nurse flipped through a stack of cards until she found one with Laurie’s name on it. “Laurie is being admitted—for observation.”

“What room is she in?” Nancy asked.

“You’d have to ask the clerk at the admitting desk about that,” the nurse answered. “It’s upstairs, first floor.”

“Thank you,” Nancy said. She and George found the elevator and went up one floor.

Nancy was getting Laurie’s room number when George muttered, “Look who’s here.” .

Nancy lifted her eyes and saw Adam Boyd being pushed out of an elevator in a wheelchair. Both of his hands were bandaged, but he was fully dressed.

“Adam!” Leaving the admitting desk, Nancy walked over to greet him.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at Nancy and George. The nurse who had been pushing his wheelchair
left for a moment to speak with one of the clerks at the main desk.

“Are you going home today?” Nancy asked. The concern in her voice was genuine.

Adam nodded. “Not a moment too soon, either,” he answered. “I was here all night. I hate this place.”

George was looking at his bandages. “How bad are the burns?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be okay in a few weeks,” he said. “They kept me here because of smoke inhalation, mostly.”

Nancy and George exchanged a look, then Nancy placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Get well soon, okay?” she said.

“Okay,” Adam replied, looking pleased at the attention.