Poison Pen (10 page)

Oooh! I'll get him for that later, she thought.

Ernie's expression was doubtful. “All the same,” he said, “I can't get to it right away.”

“Oh,
please!”
Nancy made her lower lip tremble. “If our plans are ruined I'll—I'll cry.”

Ned put an arm around Ernie's shoulder. “Can we talk about this for a minute, man to man?” Still talking, he led Ernie toward the office.

Nancy watched them go, stifling a laugh. Not bad! Now I'd better get to it before they come back.

It took only a few seconds for her to recognize Mrs. Keating's silver sedan. It was parked near the back of the garage. As she wandered over, Nancy saw a pair of legs in white coveralls poking out from under the car's body. Someone was apparently working on it already.

That's probably good, Nancy realized. If she played this right, she could even get an expert's opinion on Mrs. Keating's brake trouble.

Bending down, Nancy said, “Excuse me.”

There was a clattering sound as the mechanic slid out from under the car on a small, wheeled board. He stood up, dusting off his hands. Then he raised his eyes straight at Nancy. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“You!” she cried.

She was facing the man with the mismatched eyes!

T
HE MAN
gave Nancy a quizzical smile and asked, “Have we met?” But she was sure she saw a glint of recognition in his eyes.

Her thoughts were in a whirl, and her gaze kept flicking back and forth between the man's blue and brown eyes. In all the excitement of Brenda's accident, she'd completely forgotten him. Yet he'd been at the mall the day of Brenda's first car accident and near the Keatings' house the night of the concert. What was he doing working on Mrs. Keating's car now?

“No, you don't know me,” Nancy responded after a moment. “But I've seen you before.” She decided not to mention anything about seeing Rick chase him the night of the Ice Planet concert.

“You seemed very interested in an accident involving this car,” she went on carefully.

“Ah, of course. You were the good Samaritan,” the man said easily. “How could I forget a face as pretty as yours?” He unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them. Underneath, Nancy noted, he had on an expensive-looking suit.

“Oh, I don't actually work here,” he explained when he saw her look of surprise. “I just slipped in and—er—borrowed this extra coverall when the office was empty.”

Nancy folded her arms, unsure of what to make of the guy. He was smooth—almost too smooth—and she didn't really trust him. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

The man shrugged. “It was more convenient than trying to explain to the mechanics that I wanted to examine one of their cars to see if its brakes had been doctored.”

“What?”
Nancy couldn't contain her surprise.

“Well, surely you suspect the same thing,” the man said in a reasonable voice. “After all, you were the one who told Maggie to get her brakes checked in the first place.”

From the familiar way he used Mrs. Keating's name, Nancy guessed he knew her. “Just who are you?” she demanded. “And what are you up to?”

“Oh, excuse my rudeness,” the man said
with a charming laugh. He held out his hand. “I'm Maggie Keating's brother-in-law. Name's Chris Trout.”

Brother-in-law? Suddenly Nancy recalled her father telling her that Mrs. Keating was the widow of a lawyer named Wilford Trout. This guy must be Wilford's younger brother. But what was he doing in the garage?

Reaching out, she took Trout's hand and shook it. “I'm Nancy Drew,” she told him.

“Delighted,” Trout said in that same supersmooth tone. Reaching into the pocket of the coveralls, he drew out a flat, oddly shaped piece of silvery metal. “Well, Nancy, you can be my witness. This is the proof that Maggie's brakes were sabotaged. I just found it.”

Nancy's mind was racing. What was Trout up to? Could he somehow be involved in the plot to kill Mrs. Keating? He had been at the mall when she ran into Brenda. Could that be a coincidence? Nancy had to find out more!

“I didn't see you find that thing,” she pointed out, hoping to goad more information from him. “Anyway, I don't even know what it is. You say it's proof of sabotage, but how do I know you're telling the truth?”

“Very good!” Trout said approvingly. He held the piece of metal up so Nancy could examine it. “This is a brake shoe. Notice the wear here and here.” He pointed to two uneven spots on the surface of the metal piece
and went on to explain, “Now, wear is usual in everyday driving but not quite like this. If you look closely, you can see file marks.”

Nancy caught her breath. He was right!

“It's very subtle, though.” Raising his eyebrows, Trout added, “I doubt a regular auto mechanic would even catch it. It's just that I have some expertise on the subject of brakes.”

“How so?” Nancy asked cautiously.

“I drive Formula One race cars,” Trout told her. He made a sigh that seemed a little exaggerated. “Unfortunately, racing is a very expensive hobby, what with the cost of the cars themselves, maintenance, entry fees, and so forth. I've been forced into temporary retirement, due to lack of funds.”

His mismatched eyes held a strange gleam as he added, “But my luck may be changing. I think you can look for me on the racetrack again in the near future.”

More questions whirled in Nancy's head. Was he making some weird reference to the plan to kill Mrs. Keating? But then, why would he tell her about the sabotaged brakes if he was in on the plot? Unless he just wanted her to
think
he was trying to protect Mrs. Keating to throw Nancy off the track—

Nancy shook herself. It was all guesswork until she came up with proof. Clearing her throat, she said, “About the brake shoe—”

“Oh, yes. The brake shoe.” Trout looked
down at the object in his hand, then gave Nancy a sudden, wolfish grin. “Don't worry. I'll make sure the proper people see it.”

Before Nancy could even open her mouth to ask what he meant, Trout strode jauntily away.

“Nancy, I think we're going to have to give up for today,” Ned's voice came from behind her.

Startled, Nancy turned around. Ned stood there with the mechanic.

“What?” Nancy asked, her mind still on the strange conversation with Trout.

“I said, I think we're going to have to give up on getting the car fixed today,” Ned replied.

“Well, we'll live,” Nancy said distractedly.

“Gee, you're sure you're not too disappointed?” Ned asked, frowning at her.

Suddenly Nancy remembered they were supposed to be putting on an act for Ernie. “Oh, of course I am,” she said, pouting. “I'm
very
disappointed. Ned, let's go. I think I'm going to cry.”

Doing her best to look upset, Nancy led the way out of the garage. As soon as they were around the corner and out of sight, though, she grabbed Ned's hand. “Listen to this!” Quickly she filled him in on her encounter with Chris Trout.

Ned whistled when she was done. “This Trout guy sounds like bad news,” he commented.

“I agree,” Nancy said. “He acted like he
wanted to help, but—I don't know, I got the feeling he was hiding something. If he really wanted to help Mrs. Keating, why would he run off like that with the brake shoe? Maybe he's actually in on some plan with Mr. Keating.” Her blue eyes had a determined gleam in them as she added, “One thing's for sure.”

“What's that?” Ned inquired.

“I've got some homework to do on both Bill Keating and Chris Trout.”

• • •

“Wow, Nancy,” Bess said wistfully. “This guy Chris Trout sounds kind of romantic.”

“I don't know,” said George. She poured herself a refill of soda and went back to her seat at the Drews' kitchen table. “Sometimes the most charming guys are the ones who make the most trouble.”

Nancy nodded her agreement. “The question is, what kind of trouble?”

The girls had just eaten dinner, and now they were comparing notes on what they had learned that day.

“He's definitely a slippery kind of guy,” Nancy went on. “The only solid information he gave me was that he drives Formula Ones—you know, race cars. So I called some racing people, and they actually thought I was trying to track Trout down for money. The guy said something like, ‘Look, lady, you'll have to wait in line behind me and half of Chicago.' ”

“Maybe he's not so romantic after all,” Bess commented, taking a sip of soda.

“But it sounds like he's definitely broke,” said George.

“Right,” Nancy said with a nod. “I called my dad about it, and he told me both Wilford and Chris Trout inherited a lot of money from their parents. But both of them let it slip away within just a few years. Wilford still made good money as a lawyer, though, and my dad says Wilford was always giving money to Chris. I wonder if Chris hoped Wilford's widow would continue with the handouts,” she added, thinking out loud.

“Maybe he's trying to kill Mrs. Keating and get it blamed on Mr. Keating so that he can inherit whatever she has,” Bess suggested. “Ugh,” she added, shuddering.

“That doesn't make sense unless Mrs. Keating put a special provision for Chris in her will,” Nancy pointed out. “He's not Mrs. Keating's next of kin. He's not even really related to her.”

“Besides,” said George, “from what I heard today, I don't think Mrs. Keating has much money to leave to anyone.”

Nancy nodded. “That's what Rick said, too. What exactly did you find out?”

“Well, I talked to Mrs. Keating's hairdresser, Maurice,” began George, reaching for the last of Hannah's chocolate chip cookies. “He has this chic salon, but he was pretty chatty. I
went in to talk to him about a new look.” She grinned and patted her dark curls.

“You didn't!” Bess cried admiringly. “Oh, this sounds fun. I wish I'd rescheduled my dentist's appointment so I could have gone with you.”

George crunched into the cookie, then went on with her story. “After a while I got the conversation around to Mrs. Keating,” she said. “Maurice is upset with her because she bounced three checks in a row. He says that right before Mrs. Keating married Mr. Keating, she was talking a lot about how much money she was going to have after the wedding. Maurice thinks
she
married him for
his
money.”

“Now, that's interesting,” Nancy said. “It's beginning to look as if both Mr. and Mrs. Keating went into their marriage thinking the other one would make them wealthy again.”

“And they were both disappointed,” Bess added excitedly. “Hey, maybe they're trying to kill each other!”

Nancy smiled at Bess. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But so far we have no evidence that anyone is trying to kill
Mr.
Keating.”

The three girls turned as Ned appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hannah let me in,” he explained. “What's up?”

Nancy was about to start filling him in when the telephone rang. She reached for the kitchen extension. “Hello?”

It was Brenda. She was beside herself with excitement. “Guess what?” she cried. “I just got an anonymous phone tip!”

“What?” Nancy asked. “Calm down, Brenda. What are you talking about?”

“It happened just five minutes ago,” Brenda said. “The phone rang, and when I picked it up, this muffled voice told me I could get information that would help the woman who wrote the letter in my column. All I have to do is show up at Bluff Bridge at nine o'clock tonight.”

“Brenda,” Nancy said sternly, feeling a prickle of unease, “the letter was a fake, remember? This could be a trap.”

“I know that!” Brenda said scornfully. “I'm not an idiot, Nancy. I'm just calling to tell you I'm going to set a trap for
him.
”

“You can't go!” Nancy yelled into the receiver. Was Brenda actually dumb enough to try to outsmart a potential murderer? Then Nancy remembered something. “Your car's still in the shop,” she pointed out, heaving a sigh of relief. “You don't have any way to get there.”

There was a sulky silence. “Well, how are we going to catch this guy?” Brenda asked at last.

Nancy glanced at her watch. It was already eight thirty-five! “I'll go in your place,” she said, thinking fast. “I'll take Ned. And can you call Rick? Tell him to be on the far side of the bridge at ten of nine—and to watch for anyone approaching from that side.”

After slamming down the phone, Nancy grabbed Ned and herded him toward the door. “I'll explain later, you guys,” she called back to Bess and George.

In the car she told Ned about her conversation with Brenda. “We're going to set a trap for the ‘trapper,' ” she finished.