038 The Final Scene (9 page)

N
ANCY WOKE UP
to the sounds of breakfast carts being wheeled down the hall. A loud voice paged, “Dr. Evans. Dr. Evans, please come to I.C.U.”

Blinking her eyes against the morning sun that streamed through a window beside her bed, she murmured, “Where am I? What, happened?”

In an instant Carson Drew was at her side, holding her hand. “Nancy, it’s me. Dad. Wake up,” she heard him say.

“Dad?” she asked as the image of his face swam into view.

“Yes. I’m right here. And George is here, too.”

Nancy lifted her head to look down toward the foot of the bed, but she groaned as a pain shot through the left side of her head. “Oh, wow,” she moaned. “It feels like there’s a team of hockey players going at it inside my skull.”

“Don’t try to move, Nancy,” George said, taking her friend’s hand. “You got quite a bump. The doctor says you should lie still.”

“My arm—is it broken?” Nancy asked as she looked down at the sling on her right arm.

“No,” her father answered. “Just sprained.”

“It feels broken. What hit me? A semi truck?”

Nancy saw her father and George look at each other.

“Don’t you remember what happened last night?” George asked.

“Last night?” Nancy closed her eyes and tried to think back. Then it came to her. “Something fell on me.”

“It was a movie screen,” Carson Drew offered. “Can you remember anything about it?”

Nancy shook her head and instantly regretted having moved as another pain shot
through her. “No. I heard a noise and I decided to investigate. But I made it all the way.”

George looked disappointed, but Mr. Drew reached out and gently patted her shoulder. “That’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Deirdre,” she said, fighting to stay awake and gather her confused thoughts. “I met with Deirdre just before it happened.”

“Yes, we know,” George said. “She was the one who rescued you. She said she was just walking out the rear door when she heard a loud crash. She was afraid something had happened to you, so she went rushing back.”

“She was the one who called the ambulance,” Mr. Drew said. “If it hadn’t been for Deirdre, who knows how long you might have been there before anyone found you.”

“She came back to the hotel lobby to tell me about your accident,” George said. “Then I called your father.”

“I told her that you were staked out there in the lobby,” Nancy said as her mind cleared, and she remembered her meeting with Deirdre. “She didn’t want anyone to know that she had been to see me. Especially Simon. She suspects Simon of the kidnapping.”

“Really?” Mr. Drew pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. “Tell us.”

“There’s not that much to tell. She said that on the plane here Simon was trying to talk Brady into some kind of publicity stunt, and Brady wasn’t buying it. They argued about it.”

“Well, that’s all the proof I need,” George said. “It’s got to be Simon.”

Nancy chuckled and turned to her dad. “George fell for Nicholas when he helped her down from that catwalk. Now she’s determined to prove that it’s Simon and not Nicholas.”

“But you still suspect Nicholas?” Mr. Drew asked.

Nancy cast a sideways glance at George and saw her disapproving scowl.

“I have to suspect everyone,” Nancy said carefully. “And, yes, he’s still one of my prime suspects. The kidnapper is a man who’s well-acquainted with the theater. Nicholas knows the place, and he has a strong motive for the kidnapping—family loyalty and love of the place.”

“So,” said a voice from the doorway. They all turned to see Nicholas standing there with a box of chocolates in his hand and a dark look of anger on his handsome face.

“Just because I’m loyal to my family and want to preserve that beautiful old building,
that makes me a kidnapper?” he asked pointedly.

He walked across the room and tossed the candy onto the foot of the bed. “I heard about your accident, Nancy,” he said. “I came to tell you that I hope you recover quickly.” He walked back to the door where he stood with his hand on the knob. “I’m sorry that you think so little of me as a person,” he said with bitter sarcasm. “But I still hope you get well soon.”

He slammed the door behind him. The sound echoed for a long moment in the heavy quiet of the room. No one spoke.

Finally George broke the silence. “His feelings were really hurt,” she said in a slightly accusing tone.

Carson Drew cleared his throat. “It was unfortunate that he walked in at that particular moment.”

Nancy looked at her friend’s troubled expression and felt terrible. “I’m sorry, George,” she said. “And if Nicholas really is innocent—and I hope he is—I’m sorry I hurt his feelings.”

• • •

At ten that morning George drove Nancy home from the hospital. Hannah had her tucked into her own bed in no time at all.

“I can’t believe you disobeyed your doctor’s orders and checked out of the hospital today,” Hannah said, bustling around. “Did your father know you were going to do that?”

Nancy sighed and laid her head back on the pillow that Hannah had just fluffed. “No.”

“Well, he’s going to be very angry with you when he finds out,” Hannah said, her hands on her hips.

“I know,” Nancy said, reaching for the bedside telephone. “That’s why I’m going to call him now and tell him myself before the doctor has a chance to get to him first.”

“I’ll make you some chicken soup,” Hannah said as she left the bedroom. “And, George, make sure she stays in that bed!”

George smiled. “Hannah’s famous chicken soup could cure anything from the common cold to bubonic plague,” she said.

As Nancy dialed her father’s office number, she knew that this time Hannah’s soup would not stop her head and arm from aching.

Hannah had been right, of course. She probably should have stayed in the hospital. She would have stayed, but she couldn’t help Bess from a hospital bed. And if she didn’t break this case today . . .

This was the last day. In less than seven hours the theater would be a pile of rubble and
Bess would be dead. Time was running out, and Nancy was keenly aware of every passing minute.

When her father’s secretary put her through to him, Nancy steeled herself for his reaction.

“You did what?” he roared into the phone when she told him.

“Dad, I had to. Please try to understand. You wouldn’t stay in the hospital if it were me who was missing.”

There was silence on the other end. Nancy couldn’t tell if he was still angry or considering her point of view.

“Dad?”

“I understand,” he said at last. “That doesn’t mean I approve. Just promise me that you’ll take it easy.”

“I’ll try.” Nancy hung up the phone.

“So what’s the plan?” George asked.

“Hmm?” Nancy bit her lower lip.

“When you get that look in your eyes, I can tell you’re up to something.”

Nancy got out of bed, and before slipping into a pair of jeans and a sweater, slipped out of her sling. Her arm was okay but felt a little stiff.

“Maybe I should be hit on the head more often. I just thought of something we should have done long ago.”

“So, tell,” said George.

“We need to go to City Hall to see if we can locate the blueprints of the theater. There might be a hidden room we haven’t searched.”

The telephone rang, but Nancy knew that Hannah would answer it. A few seconds later Hannah ran up the stairs and knocked on Nancy’s door.

“It’s for you, Nancy. It’s some man, but he wouldn’t say who.”

“Thanks, Hannah.” Nancy raced to the phone. “Hello?”

“I have a suggestion that might help you with your investigation,” the voice said in a raspy whisper.

“Who are you? Are you the one who took Bess?”

Nancy frantically grabbed a pencil and began scribbling with her left hand on a nearby notepad. She wrote, “Trace call. Dad’s study phone.” Then she shoved the note into George’s hand.

“It doesn’t matter who I am or if I have her,” the man said. “Do you want the suggestion or not?”

“I’ll gladly accept any help you can give me,” she said, trying to prolong the conversation.

“Okay. I’m only going to say this once. Take
another look at your list of suspects. You haven’t considered everyone who has a vested interest in the theater.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Nancy said breathlessly, “is Bess still in the—”

But he had already hung up.

A few moments later George came running back into the bedroom. “They got it,” she exclaimed. “With that new equipment of theirs they traced it right away.”

“Where was the call coming from?” Nancy asked anxiously.

George drew a deep breath. “From a telephone at five-twelve East Main Street.”

The call had come from inside the theater!

W
HAT DO YOU THINK
it means, Nancy?” George asked as Nancy rushed her from the bedroom.

“Shh, George,” Nancy said, putting her finger to her lips. “I don’t want Hannah to hear us. She’ll have a fit if she even knows I’m out of bed.”

After silently sneaking down the stairs, Nancy opened the front door. She and George quietly slipped out of the house.

“Whew. Okay,” Nancy said. “There are two
possibilities. First, it was the kidnapper himself who called, and he’s still inside the theater—with Bess.”

“That’s not logical,” George said as she opened the passenger door of the car for Nancy. “Who would throw you onto his scent like that?”

Nancy thought for a moment. “You’re right. But the second possibility is that someone inside the theater knows more than we do but doesn’t want to come forward.”

“Like Brady!” George said excitedly. “Or Deirdre!”

“That could be. I still haven’t ruled out Simon Mueller. Still,” Nancy said slowly, “the caller said we hadn’t considered all the possible suspects. That implies it isn’t Simon. And it means we’re missing something important. But what?”

“I don’t know, Nan. Whatever it is, we’d better find it soon.”

• • •

“I told you they aren’t here,” said the young woman in the city planning office of the River Heights City Hall. “The blueprints you want simply aren’t here.”

The woman pursed her strawberry red lips and put her hands on her waist as she stared at Nancy and George.

Nancy leaned across the narrow counter and tapped her fingers impatiently on its scuffed surface. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. And I’m as upset about it as you are,” she said offhandedly while examining the chipped polish on the nail of her pinky.

“I doubt that,” Nancy muttered under her breath to George.

“I trusted that man with those prints, and now look what’s happened,” the young woman said with a bored pout.

“What man?” Nancy exclaimed.

“Just some guy. He came in a few days ago and asked to see the blueprints. Then he asked permission to take them down the hall to photocopy them. Our copier was broken, so I let him take them. He brought the envelope back later and left it on the counter. Like a dummy I filed it without looking inside. Apparently he took them with him.” She patted her carefully styled blond hair. “And he seemed so honest, too.”

“What did he look like?” George asked eagerly.

“What?” The librarian squinted at George through her heavy blue mascara. “What did he look like? He looked—just regular.”

“Did you notice anything about him? Like the color of his hair?” Nancy continued.

“I think it was kind of gray,” she said. “But I’m not really sure. I think he was older, anyway.”

Nancy was going to push for distinguishing features, but she realized there was no point. The woman seemed to care more about her own appearance than anyone else’s.

“Why is everyone so interested in the theater all of a sudden?” the young woman asked. “Does it have anything to do with that kidnapping?”

Nancy looked at George, her pretty face reflecting her concern.

“Yes,” she said, “it has everything to do with the kidnapping.”

Nancy led George out of the office and down the hallway.

“We don’t know much more than we did before,” George said dejectedly.

“Sure we do. We know someone wants to stop us from finding those blueprints, and that someone may be older.” Nancy looked at her watch. It was noon.

George must have noticed the nervous gesture. “We’ve got to think of something, Nancy.”

“I’m thinking.” Someone older. Haven’t considered all the possibilities. Who would want the plans to the theater? Who else had a motive?

“Bingo!” she said. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before.”

“Nancy,” George said, grabbing her friend’s arm, “would you care to let me in on it?”

“Louis Falcone.” Nancy let the words sink in.

“Nicholas’s grandfather?”

“We’ve never considered him as a suspect, but what if he’s behind all this? It would make sense. There’s no way he’d want that theater torn down, and he probably knows that building better than anyone.” It was all falling into place.

“But, Nancy—”

“There’s no time to waste.”