Danger for Hire (9 page)

“Rats!”

Tom ran up next to her. “I didn't get the number, did you?”

“No!” she said in frustration. “I can't even say for sure what model it is.”

“Maybe we can catch it?”

“Doubtful,” Nancy predicted.

Tom shrugged. “At least we got close.”

Nancy was suddenly angry. Stalking toward her car, she muttered, “Close isn't good enough, Tom. Not for me.”

The first thing Nancy did upon arriving home half an hour later was to confirm the whereabouts of her suspects. She phoned Cindy.

“I hope I'm not calling too late,” she said apologetically.

“No problem, but I don't have any news,” Cindy reported. “Mr. Masterson has been home since a quarter past six.”

Nancy thanked her and hung up. Next she dialed the nighttime number at Hayward Security headquarters. Guards were required to phone in every hour to confirm that they were on duty and awake. If they failed to report in, then headquarters dispatched a van to check on them.

The switchboard operator told Nancy that Adam Reeves had phoned in every hour.

“You spoke to him personally?” Nancy asked, to be certain.

“Sure. Well, sort of. The guards usually don't say much,” the operator explained. “They give their ID number, say ‘Reporting in,' and then hang up.”

“Well, thanks a lot for your help.”

Stanley Loomis was also a suspect, but she was positive that he had not been at the scene. He couldn't have left his house and driven to the area faster than she and Tom. Also, the Wolfman had been tall and agile. Loomis was short and fat. Still, that didn't put him completely in the clear. This gang had more than one member, and some of them might work for Loomis.

• • •

The next morning Nancy drove to Loomis's main office. Like Tom, Loomis had a fleet of vans, she saw. He had more than Tom did, in fact.

That meant he employed a lot of guards. Nancy needed to find out more about them. She went to one of the cafeterias in the warehouse district that was popular with workers.

It was nearly empty. The cashier was reading a paperback. Nancy asked for a pack of
gum. As she paid for it, she said, “Can I ask you a question or two?”

“What for?” the cashier asked warily, handing Nancy her change.

“My name's Nancy Drew,” Nancy began.

The woman's face lit up. “Haven't I seen your name in the paper? Aren't you the girl detective they're always writing about?”

“That's right,” Nancy confirmed. “And I'm trying to help a friend.”

“What do you want to know?” the woman asked, smiling.

“Warehouse workers eat here a lot, right?” Nancy asked.

“They're our main customers,” the cashier affirmed.

“Do the security guards ever come in, too?”

“Sometimes.”

Nancy nodded encouragingly. “Do they ever talk about the companies they work for? Do they ever complain?”

The cashier laughed. “Nancy, every worker complains!”

“What about the security guards, though?” Nancy persisted.

“Why don't you ask that guy over there.” The cashier pointed.

“Thanks,” Nancy said.

The man was in his late forties and had a ruddy complexion. He was drinking coffee at a Formica-topped table by the window. Although he wasn't wearing a uniform, a Loomis & Petersen jacket was hanging over the back of his chair.

A newspaper was open in front of him. He was reading the want ads, Nancy saw. “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions?”

“What for?” the man inquired without looking up.

Nancy ran through the same routine that she had with the cashier. Satisfied, the man offered her the seat across the table.

“Thanks,” Nancy said, sitting. “You work for Stan Loomis?”

“Not anymore,” the man said glumly. “Laid off a week ago.”

Nancy lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Things are tough everywhere, I guess,” the man replied. “Company had to tighten its belt.”

“Gee, I'm sorry. How long did you work for him?” Nancy asked sympathetically.

“Seventeen years! Still can't believe it,” the man muttered.

Nancy leaned toward him. “You must be pretty angry.”

“Well, I'd rather somebody else got laid off than me, I'll say that,” the man grumbled.

Nancy zeroed in on her target. “Would you say Stan Loomis is honest?”

“Sure,” the man said without hesitation. “Stan was on the wrong side of the law once. He told me all about it. But he reformed. He's as honest as my mother—and believe me, kid, that's honest!”

Nancy smiled. “I believe you. What about Hayward Security—think you might get a job working for them?”

“Wouldn't want it,” the man said firmly.

“Why not?” Nancy was surprised.

“ 'Cause I've talked to their guards. The pay's lousy.”

“Any other reasons?” Nancy asked.

The man stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “Not that I can put my finger on. The guys who work there are kind of—I don't know, unhappy. They don't have a lot of nice things to say about the company, you get my drift?”

“I think so. And thanks,” Nancy said, rising. “You've been a big help.”

• • •

When Cindy Larson arrived at Nancy's house that afternoon, she asked, “What can I do to help?”

Nancy slid the telephone toward her. “You can call more discount stores. I've listed numbers from the rest of the county. That will free me up to work on our profiles.”

Cindy's face fell. “But I've called so many already! Isn't there something else I can do?”

“Getting bored?” Nancy asked with a smile.

“Well, a little,” Cindy admitted sheepishly.

“Don't get discouraged. You never know when a clue will turn up.”

“I suppose.” Cindy reached for the phone.

Suddenly Nancy felt guilty. She placed her hand on Cindy's to stop her from dialing. “Actually, there
is
something else you could help me with—”

“Not more garbage, I hope?” Cindy groaned.

Nancy shook her head. “No. What time is the mail delivered in your neighborhood?”

Cindy looked at her watch. “Right about now.”

“Does Neil Masterson's wife get it out of the mailbox?”

“No, Mr. Masterson does that when he gets
home from work. At least, that's what I saw him do the last couple of evenings.”

“Good enough,” Nancy said, rising from her chair. “Let's go.”

They drove to Cindy's neighborhood. It was a new development—mostly ranch-style houses.

They cruised up and down the block several times, checking to see that no one was in Neil's yard. Then Nancy quickly pulled up to the curbside mailbox and took his mail.

“Nancy, isn't opening other people's mail illegal?” Cindy asked, aghast. She looked a bit pale, Nancy saw.

“We're not going to open it,” Nancy said, driving away.

“Then why steal it?”

“We're not stealing it. We're borrowing it,” she said.

“Now I'm
really
confused! Why borrow it if—”

“I'll show you why in a minute.”

Back in her bedroom, Nancy opened her windows wide. Next, she sorted through Neil's mail. There was some junk mail and also what appeared to be a bill from River Heights Hospital.

In addition, there was an envelope from Loomis & Petersen. Interesting. Nancy put it and the hospital bill in the center of her desk. Then she went to her closet and took out a bottle of clear fluid. “This is highly flammable,” she warned.

Using an eyedropper, Nancy dribbled some of the fluid on the envelope from River Heights Hospital. Instantly the wet part of the envelope became transparent.

As Nancy had suspected, it was a bill. The amount due was $5,425. A very hefty sum. Nancy blew on the wet spot. Within a minute the envelope was once again opaque.

“That's incredible,” Cindy said, shaking her head.

Next Nancy dribbled fluid onto the envelope from Loomis & Petersen. Her eyes went wide. Inside was a check made out to Neil Masterson. The amount it paid him was exactly $5,425!

T
HAT EXPLAINED
how Neil was able to pay the bills for his daughter's operations. But what did Loomis get in exchange? Information about Hayward's alarm systems? Access codes?

Or was it more than that? And what about Adam Reeves? Where did he fit in? In an unguarded moment Adam had mentioned a “he.” Who was that? Neil? Loomis?

Nancy needed definite answers. Time was running out. The price of Hayward Security
stock had dropped even farther that day. Tom and his shareholders were losing a fortune. She had to get to the bottom of things, and fast. It was time, Nancy decided, to call in her reserves.

• • •

Bess and George arrived at Nancy's right after dinner. Cindy stayed, too. The four parked themselves in Nancy's room.

“Starting tonight we have to keep a constant tail on Loomis, Masterson, and Reeves,” she announced. “We want to know everything they do, everyone they meet.”

“Okay!” Bess said. “Exactly what do we have to do?”

“Borrow your parents' cars, pick up your target, and stick with him. Keep a record of everything: locations, times—the works. George, you take Adam Reeves. But be careful. He can spot a tail.”

“If he spots me, at least I'll have a shot at outrunning him,” George joked.

Nancy warned, “Stay in your car. If he sees you, take off.”

“Who do I get?” Bess asked.

“Neil Masterson,” Nancy told her.

“Is he cute?”

The others howled in mock outrage and threw pillows at her.

“Hey! My hair!” Bess wailed. When the melee died down, she added, “I guess that leaves you with Loomis, Nancy.”

“What about me?” Cindy asked.

“We need you to be our central contact. If there are any problems, we'll call in to you, and you can get word to one or both of the others.”

“I just sit by the phone?” Cindy looked disappointed.

“You are our lifeline,” Nancy told her seriously. “That's important.”

That's dull, Cindy's expression said. But she only nodded.

“Okay, let's get going. We'll stick with our targets until they go home. Then we'll pick them up again in the morning,” Nancy said.

• • •

That night was a washout. Adam worked at the CD warehouse, then drove straight home. Neil worked late, then went home, too, leaving Bess to spend the evening parked by Cindy's house while Cindy spent the evening by Nancy's phone.

Nancy herself traveled a bit more, but in the
end Stanley Loomis did nothing very unusual. His one unexpected stop was at a florist, where he walked out with a dozen pink tulips. He took them home. Nancy realized for the first time that he was probably married.

Saturday morning the team was at work early. Nancy was still sipping tea from her thermos when Loomis climbed into his car and drove to his office.

Nancy parked halfway down the block from his office—close enough to see him leave, far enough not to be noticed. Then she settled in for a long wait.

Tap, tap, tap.

The rapping on her window caught her completely off guard.

“Bess!” She rolled down her window. “What are you doing here?”

Bess grinned. “Same thing you are. I just parked a little farther way, that's all. When I saw your car I came over.”

Nancy jerked herself upright. “But that must mean that Neil Masterson is—”

“You got it.” Bess nodded. “He arrived at Loomis's office a few minutes ago. Do you think they're inside having some kind of powwow?”

“I'd lay odds on it,” Nancy said. Reaching behind her, she got her knapsack. Inside the pack were her binoculars and a camera with a telephoto lens. “Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Where we can see into Loomis's office. We should have a couple of rooftops to choose from.”

“Rooftops?”
Bess echoed nervously.

The building Nancy chose was diagonally across the street from Loomis & Petersen. In an alley next to it she leaped up and caught the lowest rung of the fire escape.

“But, Nancy—” Bess said in a worried voice.

“You can stay here if you like,” Nancy pointed out.

Bess looked around the alley. “No, thanks. I'll go with you.”

A minute later they were in position. A rooftop sign hid them. By peering with her binoculars through a gap in the sign, Nancy could see directly into Loomis's office without being detected. Neil Masterson was indeed meeting with Loomis.

“What are they doing?” Bess asked.

“Looking at some diagrams,” Nancy reported.
“Neil is pointing things out with his pen. Loomis likes what he sees.”

“What are they planning, I wonder?” Bess mused.