Hidden Meanings (6 page)

After dinner Paul gave the girls a tour of the hotel's immense kitchen, also in the subbasement. Gleaming white tile stretched for yards, along huge steel cooking ranges, counters, and banks of ovens. The walk-in refrigerators were as big as rooms. “The hotel has three restaurants and four banquet rooms,” Paul explained. “On a good night, they could serve two thousand meals out of here.”

Suddenly a man in a white coat leaned through a door. “Buffet ready—servers upstairs!” he barked.

Excusing themselves, Paul, George, and Bess jogged over to a small service elevator. Nancy noticed trolleys loaded with platters of food already on the elevator. The waiters stepped on and headed upstairs.

Nancy turned back again to marvel at the kitchen. A steel counter beside her was piled high with warming plates, ready to go up to the buffet. She noticed rice pilaf and a pile of shish kebabs—cubes of meat and vegetables cooked on long sticks.

Then Nancy saw a pile of slim peeled twigs beside a platter with more chunks of meat. Frowning, she picked one up and broke it open. A milky white sap came out.

Nancy rushed to find the nearest chef, a woman in a mushroom-shaped white hat. “Excuse me—where are those sticks from?” Nancy asked urgently.

“I don't know,” the chef replied. “The shish kebabs are for the high-school kids. The menu theme
was
Wild West, but an hour ago the conference director sent us a note to make it Middle Eastern, too. He sent these wooden skewers down, saying they'd be more authentic.”

“But you can't serve these shish kebabs,” Nancy announced.

“Why not?” the chef asked, frowning.

“Those skewers are made from the oleander bush,” Nancy said. “They're deadly poisonous!”

T
HE CHEF'S FACE FROZE
in horror. “But we already sent up two platters of those shish kebabs,” she said with a gasp. “They're upstairs now—being eaten!”

There wasn't a second to waste. Nancy raced to the service elevator and pounded the button with her fist. “Call upstairs and get someone to take those shish kebabs away!” she called back to the chef. “And then destroy the rest of those twigs—but not by burning them. Even the smoke is poisonous!”

Just then the elevator doors opened. Nancy strode in and pushed the button for the second floor, where she knew the banquet room was located. The elevator climbed upward at what seemed like a snail's pace. Nancy rapped on the wall in frustration.

Finally the doors opened onto a small pantry. Nancy saw no shish kebabs on the counters. A phone on the wall was ringing—the chef must be trying to call upstairs, Nancy guessed. That meant that no one had yet been told about the deadly skewers. She sprang to the double doors leading to the banquet room and flung them open.

A throng of students milled around the room, everybody talking at once. Small round tables had been set up around the outer walls; a long buffet table took up the center of the room. A line of hungry students was moving up to the buffet table, and Nancy saw that about ten kids had already served themselves. Some held their plates and ate standing up. Others were sitting at the small tables.

Nancy shoved through the crowd to the buffet and spotted a tray of shish kebabs at the end of the table. She raced over.

Seizing the hot platter in her hands, Nancy yanked it off the table. She spotted George standing nearby holding a linen cloth, and she thrust the dish into George's hands. “Take these to the pantry and destroy them,” Nancy said quickly. Without asking why, George instantly obeyed.

Grabbing a cloth napkin, Nancy ran to the other end of the buffet table, which had the same food laid out. She snatched the other shish kebab platter just as a student was reaching for a skewer. “Try the chicken wings instead,” Nancy advised with a smile. She scurried to the pantry with the deadly dish.

“What's wrong with these?” George asked as Nancy came through the double doors.

“If we hadn't been talking about oleander this afternoon, I might not have noticed,” Nancy said. She plunked the hot platter down on the counter. “But these skewers are oleander twigs. The poison would seep through the bark and taint the food. I just hope no one's eaten any yet!”

Hurrying back to the banquet room, Nancy hunted frantically for Gary Ruxton. She spied him near the buffet line, chatting with Evan Sharpless. As she rushed up, the teacher smiled at her. “Nancy Drew!” he said. “I was just telling Mr. Sharpless about our mystery—”

“Mr. Ruxton,” Nancy interrupted, a bit annoyed that he was blowing her cover, “could you make an emergency announcement?”

“Of course,” Mr. Ruxton said. As he and Nancy threaded their way through the crowd to a podium, she explained the situation.

A moment later Mr. Ruxton spoke into the microphone. “Attention, students,” he began. The room fell silent. “Anyone who took a shish kebab from the buffet, please do not eat it.” A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. “Anyone who has already eaten some should come see me immedia—”

At that very moment, a boy across the room doubled over. Nancy saw Jane Sellery standing beside him. As the boy began to collapse, Jane screamed.

Nancy rushed to the boy's side, but Evan Sharpless was already there. Supporting the boy by the arm, the reporter twisted around, clearly looking for help. Nancy saw Bess standing behind him, her mouth gaping open.

“Waitress, get a doctor!” Mr. Sharpless ordered Bess. “There's a cardiologist staying here—he spoke to me in the lobby earlier. He's in room 555, I remember. Call him.” Nodding, Bess ran off to a phone.

Nancy leaned over to speak to Mr. Sharpless. “The poison was oleander,” she told him. “It has effects similar to digitalis poisoning.”

The newscaster turned to take in Nancy with a shrewd, appraising glance. “Thanks—that'll help,” he said. “When I was in the service in Vietnam, I saw a few cases of accidental poisoning. I know these first few minutes are critical.”

The sick boy raised his head weakly, gasping for air. Mr. Sharpless helped him to his feet. Half carrying the boy, the reporter moved him out of the banquet room. As Nancy followed, she spotted Gina near the door, surrounded by several guys from the workshop. Sally stood awkwardly behind her, anxiously twisting her brown curls.

Ned, leaning against the wall outside the banquet room door, looked up as Mr. Sharpless helped the sick boy to a sofa in a nearby lounge area.

Soon the doctor arrived, out of breath from having hurried to the scene. He frowned as he felt the boy's pulse.

“Most likely a case of oleander poisoning,” Mr. Sharpless told him. “Apparently, it's like digitalis poisoning.”

The doctor nodded. Reaching into his medical case, he pulled out a vial of medicine and started to fill a hypodermic needle. “His heart's beating a mile a minute,” he said. “Quinidine should help.”

A few moments later, a crew of paramedics arrived, in response to Bess's call. Nancy stepped away to let them through.

Nancy decided the situation was under control and made her way back to the banquet room. Passing Ned again, Nancy paused and filled him in on what had happened to the boy. Ned asked when Nancy had finished, “Gina's okay?”

Nancy fought down a jealous reflex. “Of course—why wouldn't she be?” she snapped.

Ned looked surprised. “Well, I just assumed that whoever did this was trying to get at her. After all the other stuff—”

“That
is
possible,” Nancy admitted. “But I don't want to leap to conclusions. I'll let you know what I find out.” And she hurried back into the banquet room.

The room was still buzzing with excited conversation. Gary Ruxton, hovering anxiously near the door, stopped her. “How is he?” he asked.

“He looks better,” Nancy said guardedly.

“What an awful accident,” Mr. Ruxton moaned.

“Or—maybe it wasn't an accident,” Nancy said. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, she leaned toward Mr. Ruxton. “The chef told me you ordered those shish kebabs.”

Ruxton looked disturbed. “I did call the banquet director, and I asked to add some Middle Eastern food for tonight,” he admitted. “At lunch Evan Sharpless was telling some students about covering the Middle East. On the spur of the moment, he offered to speak about the Middle East to the whole workshop tonight—at no charge. His speaking fees are enormous, so it seemed like a real treat.”

“He seems very involved with the students,” Nancy noted. “I'm impressed that he's so interested.”

“He's a great guy,” the teacher agreed. “Anyway, he suggested that the dinner food could tie in to the speech. I don't recall anyone mentioning shish kebabs. There were lots of people around, though.”

“Including Jane Sellery?” Nancy asked.

Mr. Ruxton, looking surprised, nodded. “How do you know Jane Sellery?” he asked.

“I talked to her last night. She and Gina Fiorella know each other,” Nancy said, trying to sound concommittal. “But if no one mentioned shish kebabs, why did you send the oleander skewers to the chef?”

Mr. Ruxton's face was blank. “I didn't,” he said.

Nancy straightened up. “The chef said she got a note from you, with the skewers,” she said.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, puzzled.

Nancy's mind raced. “I'd better go check out a few details,” she said. “I'll report back later.” She turned and walked swiftly back to the service elevator, which took her down to the kitchen again.

Questioning the chef, Nancy got the whole story. The bundle of skewers had simply appeared on the counter, the woman said, with a note attached. The chef showed it to Nancy. Typed on hotel stationery, it had Gary Ruxton's name typed at the bottom, but no handwritten signature.

Keeping the note for evidence, Nancy went next to the swimming pool level. Whoever put those skewers in the kitchen didn't have to go far for them, she reasoned. Any hotel guest could have found them—right by the pool. She thought at once of the man with the beard who'd run away from her at the pool earlier.

Emerging onto the pool terrace, she crossed over to the oleander bushes. Though the sun was going down, floodlights lit up the terrace, and Nancy knelt to inspect the shrubs. Soon she found a patch of oleander with several branches hacked away. Milky sap still oozed from the cuts. The cutting was recent.

Nancy walked back to the elevators, deep in thought. Why would anyone do something so dangerous—risking the lives of many young people? And
was
this crime related to Gina Fiorella's incidents?

She considered her two main suspects so far. It was hard to believe that Jane Sellery would go this far just to settle a school rivalry. Nick Kessler might be angry about Gina firing him, but would he have hurt Gina? He did seem to have a crush on her, though; would he have hurt other people for Gina's sake?

Nancy decided to return to her room so she could think about the case without being disturbed. Taking the elevator up to her floor, she strolled down the hall, thinking about where all the clues left her. It was still possible that Gina's father's enemies were behind everything. From what she'd heard, they might be the kind of people who would hurt a banquet full of students. Was the bearded guy working for them?

Unlocking her door, Nancy stepped inside. The red message light was flashing on her phone. She crossed to the phone, lifted the receiver, and punched the button to retrieve the call. Then she listened for the recorded message her caller had left.

It was a deep voice, probably a man's, Nancy figured. It sounded harsh and gravelly—and very frightening.

The voice snarled, “Keep your nose out of things that don't concern you, Nancy Drew!”

N
ANCY FROZE, THE PHONE
receiver in her hand, as the message lapsed into a dial tone. The anonymous caller's threat still rasped in her ear. Whoever was behind all this knew who she was now. And clearly this was someone who would stop at nothing to achieve his or her goal.