Secrets Can Kill (5 page)

Without really thinking about it, Nancy had begun following Jake, but when she saw him turn into another hall and open his locker, she decided she might learn something about him if she could see what was inside that locker. She didn't know what she'd be looking for—money, maybe—but it was worth a try.

As she passed him she got a look at the locker number—515—and before Jake saw her, she walked quickly to the water fountain at the end of the hall. She had to drink enough to float a ship, but finally she saw Jake's scuffed sneakers pass by and out of sight.

It was lunch time and the hall was empty.
Nancy moved quickly to locker 515. A credit card wouldn't be any help this time. But a professional lock-picker's kit would. Fortunately, along with her makeup and lunch money, Nancy's canvas bag just happened to have such a kit. She found the right-size pick and had the padlock off in half a minute. She pulled the door open and was ready for a leisurely exploration when she heard a voice.

“Be back in a second,” it said, “I forgot my psych book.”

It was Jake Webb. Quickly Nancy raked her eyes over the inside of his locker. Only one thing caught her attention—a shoebox. Dangling from it was a beautiful gold bracelet,
exactly
like Connie Watson's.

That was all Nancy had time for. She shut the door and moved away just as she heard Jake's footsteps round the corner.

He has no way of knowing what you were up to,
she told herself.
Just keep on going.

Nancy kept on going, but she was sure Jake Webb's eyes were on her back every step of the way.

She was glad to get out of his sight, even though once she was, Nancy still couldn't relax. What was Connie's bracelet doing in a shoebox in Jake Webb's locker? It had to be the same bracelet; it was an antique, probably one of a kind. Maybe Connie lost it and Jake, lowlife that he was, found it and decided to stash it.

When Nancy spotted Connie in the lunch line she decided to make sure she was right. “Hi,” she said. “Guess what? I think I know where your bracelet is!”

Connie jumped as if she'd been stung. “My—my bracelet?”

Nancy pointed to Connie's bare wrist. “Right. You lost it, didn't you?”

Connie nodded, her eyes wide.

“Well,” Nancy went on, “I'm pretty sure I saw it—are you ready?—in Jake Webb's locker!”

Shaking her head, Connie backed away slowly, fear in her eyes. “It—it couldn't be mine,” she stammered. “I lost mine at home. I mean, I didn't lose it. I just didn't wear it today, that's all.”

“Connie, what's wrong?”

“Nothing!” the frightened girl said. “Really, nothing's wrong! I have to go. There's this meeting I forgot about. I have to go,” she said again, and all but ran away.

Some really weird things are going on at Bedford High,
Nancy thought as she watched Connie hurry off.
And so far, they all lead to one person—Jake Webb.
She didn't know if Jake was the phantom vandal, or the anonymous video-taper. But she did know he was up to something. All she had to do was find out what.

• • •

By the end of the day Nancy was ready to explode. First Connie had treated her as if she had some horrible communicable disease. Then she couldn't find Walt Hogan or Hal Morgan, so she hadn't been able to question them. Plus, her rear end still ached from that fall off the trampoline. Things were definitely not going well. What she wanted most of all was to go home and soak in a hot tub.

Instead, Nancy decided she'd better make another pass at the video lab. She didn't want to leave Bedford High empty-handed, not for the second day in a row.

The lab wasn't locked. When Nancy walked in, the only person there was Daryl Gray, who was peering at a shelf of tapes. Suddenly she felt happy for the first time all day.

“Am I glad to see you!” she cried.

Daryl spun around, startled. Then his lips parted in his Porsche-driver's grin. “Nancy Drew, isn't it? New girl and”—he glanced around at the otherwise empty room—“private eye? How's the detecting going?”

“Don't ask,” Nancy said with a groan. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I didn't know you belonged to the video club.”

“I don't,” Daryl said. “I was just doing some detecting of my own—looking for you.” He came to stand within hugging distance of Nancy. “Looks like we found each other.”

The nearness of him made Nancy forget all her problems. “I'm glad we did,” she said. “I'm so glad, in fact, that I'm inviting you to go for a Coke. Right now.”

“Sounds great to me.”

“Good. I'll drive,” Nancy said teasingly, “and let you see what my Mustang can do.”

As they walked through the parking lot, Nancy spotted Jake Webb among the cars. Probably siphoning gas, she thought. Every time she saw him, she remembered how he'd threatened her on the stairs the day before. Was that his first threat? Or had he tried to scare her off before with the videotape?

Then Daryl put his hand casually on Nancy's shoulder and she forgot about Jake Webb and simply enjoyed the touch of Daryl Gray.

“How is it going, really?” Daryl asked again as they got into the Mustang. “Have you found any clues? Are any of the pieces fitting together yet?”

Nancy started the car with a roar. “I never thought I'd say this,” she admitted with a wry smile, “but right now, the last thing on earth I want to do is solve a mystery.”

Glad to be leaving, Nancy headed out of the parking lot and down Bedford Road. Daryl didn't ask any more questions about the case, and she was grateful. There'd be plenty of time to think about it later; just then, all she wanted to do was drive.

As they headed away from the high school, Bedford Road became narrow and winding. Through the trees Nancy caught glimpses of water.

“That's Bedford Lake,” Daryl pointed out. “It has some nice secluded benches. Why don't you drive down there?”

Down is right,
Nancy thought as the grade suddenly became steeper. She'd been doing about thirty-five and all of a sudden the needle climbed to fifty. A blind curve was coming up. Nancy put her foot on the brake. The pedal sank to the floor, and her stomach sank with it.

“Hey,” Daryl said, “I don't want to sound like a driver's ed teacher, but don't you think you should slow down a little?”

Nancy couldn't answer him. The brakes were gone, and her car was shooting down the winding road, completely out of control!

T
HE CAR PICKED
up speed, careening wildly down the hill. Nancy downshifted to second, then to first. The Mustang slowed, but not enough.

“Sharp curve coming up.” Daryl spoke quietly, but Nancy heard the quiver in his voice. She couldn't blame him—she was too terrified to speak.

Hands glued to the wheel, Nancy guided the car into the curve, praying that she wouldn't meet another car coming up. The road remained clear, but it also grew steeper. And as she came out of the bend, she could see the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. It was still fifty
yards away, but in her imagination she was already on top of it, could see the Mustang tearing into the intersection and colliding with whoever was unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Amazed that her hand was steady, Nancy reached over and slowly pulled up the handbrake. It didn't work. The car was going so fast that the brakes had burned out.

The stop sign was looming up like a monster's claw in a 3-D movie. There was no time to think. Instinctively Nancy aimed her car at the soft shoulder on the opposite side of the road. With an impact that snapped their heads back, the Mustang hit the bank, went up on two wheels, and wobbled for what seemed like an eternity. But finally, with a bone-jarring thump, it landed upright.

Nancy shut her eyes and leaned her head on the steering wheel. She was breathing like a marathon runner. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Daryl pry his hand loose from the dashboard. “Well,” he said with a gasp, “so that's what your Mustang can do.”

Nancy reached for his hand and held on tight. She felt like crying, but when she opened her mouth, a giggle came out. It was a perfectly normal hysterical reaction, she told herself. Then she giggled again.

There was a smile in Daryl's voice as he said, “How about letting me in on the joke?”

“It's just”—Nancy tried to stop laughing and couldn't—“I remembered that my car is due for an inspection in two weeks. Now the gears are probably stripped, the front bumper has to be completely smashed, and the brakes are burned out—” This last thought brought Nancy out of her dreamworld.

Her car! What had gone wrong? True, it needed an inspection, but that was just an official thing. Besides, she'd had new brakes installed six weeks ago. Something awfully strange was going on, and whatever it was, Nancy had a definite feeling that it wasn't good. She pushed open the door and jumped out.

“Hey! Where're you going?” Daryl called, rolling down his window. He stuck his head out and saw Nancy kneeling by the left front wheel, peering underneath the fender. “What is it?” he asked.

Nancy stood up, so angry she could hardly see straight. “The brake cable,” she said grimly. “It's been cut.”

“What?! Are you sure? I don't get it. Who'd . . . ?”

“Wait!” Nancy held her hand up for quiet. Then she sniffed the air. Frowning, she ran to the back of the car and sniffed again.

“What's wrong now?!”

Nancy could hardly believe what she was going to say. “That rock we went over? I think it cracked the gas tank. Daryl, the car could
blow! It could blow any second!” She started down the hill. “Get out of the car. Hurry up!”

There were no footsteps behind her. “Nancy!” she heard Daryl call. “Nancy, I can't open the door! It's jammed!”

Nancy didn't hesitate. She raced back to the car and fought with the door from the outside, but she couldn't get a good grip on the handle because the door was on an angle, leaning toward her.

She ran to the driver's side. The smell of gas fumes was stronger than ever.

“Get your seat belt off,” she said to Daryl, finally managing to open her door. She helped him climb out. “Now let's
go!”
She grabbed his hand. “The car's already beginning to burn!” she said as they ran desperately down the hill.

When the car blew, they were only a few yards away from it. The force of the explosion flung them into the underbrush by the side of the road.

They clung to each other. For a moment, hardly able to speak, they stared at the burning sports car.

“Nancy, are you all right?” Daryl whispered at last. His eyes were bright with concern.

Nancy nodded. Feeling the heat of Daryl's breath against her cheek, she hardly noticed her bruised knee and scratched arms. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for them to keep their arms around each other. Nancy closed her
eyes and breathed deeply. When Daryl had first touched her two days before, in the hallway, she'd wondered what his arms would feel like. Now she knew—they felt fabulous.

But with that fabulous feeling came another feeling—guilt. It wasn't Ned whose arms were holding her; it wasn't Ned whose lips she was feeling, nor Ned whose voice was murmuring her name. And hadn't she said just three days before that nobody could compete with Ned Nickerson? Well, maybe no one could in the long run. But at the moment—in the short run—Daryl Gray was doing a pretty good job of it.

It was a dangerous moment, emotionally, and Nancy knew she wasn't ready to deal with it. Before Daryl's lips reached hers again, she eased herself gently from his arms.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey, yourself.” Daryl's blue eyes were smiling. Looking at Nancy, he gave a long sigh. “So,” he said in a throaty voice, “how about answering the question I never got a chance to ask. Who would do something crazy like this?”

“I have a pretty good idea.” Anger made Nancy's voice tight. She pulled away and felt herself stiffen. “Does the name Jake Webb ring any bells?”

“Jake? Sure,” Daryl said slowly, sitting up. “I can see him doing something like this. But there's no way you can prove it, is there?”

Nancy was silent for a moment. She was remembering Jake's threat on the stairs, remembering him in the parking lot half an hour ago, hearing that voice on the videotape: “Stick with shopping, Nancy Drew. It's a lot safer than snooping at Bedford High.”

Well, she hadn't done much “snooping” yet, but she hadn't backed off either. Had Jake, for some reason, decided to stop her before she got any further?

“You're right,” she said as she and Daryl got up and brushed the leaves and dirt off their clothes. “I can't prove it. But I think Jake's the one.”