Carolyn Keene - Two Points to Murder

“I wouldn’t doubt it. And that’s where the joker went. Come on!”

The tunnel was suffocatingly hot. Pursuing the joker here was highly dangerous, Nancy knew, but she was determined to catch him. He had hurt too many people in too many ways to let him escape now that they had him!

On and on they jogged. The tunnel twisted and turned, and they had to peer around every corner in case the joker lay ahead. Nancy was worried. Their caution was slowing them down. He might escape.

Finally, they came to a fork. Nancy looked both ways but saw no one in the dim light. Which way had he gone?

“Should we split up?” George asked.

“No, I may need your help when we catch him.” Nancy slipped off her jacket.

Bess shucked off her coat, too. “I say we split—period! Let’s find the fastest way out of here. I’m dying of the heat!”

Nancy wiped her forehead. “The joker’s probably thinking that way, too. The question is, which is the shortest way out?”

They took the right branch. Two turns and a fifty-yard stretch later, they found themselves in a large basement. The word Jenkins was painted on the wall.

“This is one of the dormitories!” Nancy said. “Ned lived here before he joined his fraternity. Come on!”

Together they ran up a flight of stairs, down a brightly lit hallway, and out a door. They were outside again! Quickly Nancy looked around, searching for familiar landmarks.

“There! The smokestack!” she shouted. “Let’s go!”

It took less than a minute to return to the heating plant, but by then it was too late. As they rounded the corner of the building and spotted the shipping yard, Nancy let out a howl of pent-up rage.

The Camaro was gone!

“It’s my fault. I should have sent one of you back for the police. Or even for the license number,” Nancy said.

It was the next morning. Nancy, Bess, and George were eating breakfast in a big, airy dining hall.

“Don’t kick yourself too hard,” George advised her. “It was a tense situation, and you did what you thought best.”

“Yes, but look where it got us . . . nowhere! Now we’re back to square one.” Nancy groaned.

“Not exactly,” Bess interrupted.

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked, looking over at her blond friend.

Until now, Bess’s nose had been buried in the most recent issue of the student newspaper. She had picked it up on their way into the dining hall and had hardly looked up since.

“I’ve just eliminated one of our suspects,” she announced.

“You’re kidding! How?”

“By reading this paper. See? This article says that Tom Stafford led a debate against Fielding College last night.”

“So?” George demanded.

“The debate began at five p.m., the same time that the bus’s tire was shot!”

“Therefore, Tom couldn’t have done it,” Nancy concluded.

“Right!”

“Wait a minute,” George objected. “What about his loyal followers . . . couldn’t one of them have done it?”

Nancy considered that idea. “No, I don’t think so. Remember seeing them outside the sports complex? They weren’t as fanatical as Tom.”

“I think Tom’s the only one crazy enough to do something like that.”

“How would you know, Bess? You’ve never even seen him!” George pointed out.

“True, but so what? Admit it, George—you’re just disappointed that your favorite suspect is out of the running.”

George grinned. “Well, maybe I am.”

“I’d better tell Ned about this,” Nancy said, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair and pulling it on.

George nodded. “Good idea. A healthy one, too.” She pushed aside her tray with a grimace. “I hate to say it, but the food here is terrible!”

“You said it,” Bess agreed. “Those pancakes taste like rubber.”

Nancy had barely touched her breakfast. How could she eat when everything was such a mess? She was making little progress with the case, and as for her relationship with Ned—that seemed to be going backward!

Outside, the sky was gray and threatening. The forecast was for snow, and it appeared to be only a matter of time before the storm began. Nancy hurried across the campus, her head down, her spirits very low.

Were things between her and her boyfriend ever going to return to normal? When they’d disagreed over Mike it had torn her apart, and now there was something worse: the possibility that Ned was accepting cash to play for Emerson.

Nancy felt angry whenever she thought about that. Ned— her Ned—taking bribes? It was ridiculous! And yet, why keep her from investigating Mike? Why work against her when solving the case would help his team? There was also the silver bracelet. Nancy had taken it off the day before and hidden it away. Looking at it made her very uncomfortable.

She couldn’t continue living with these ugly suspicions, she knew. She had to talk to him. She had to find out the truth!

Ned was at the sports complex studying a videotape of the Haviland game. Nancy slipped into the viewing room quietly. For a moment she studied him . In his jeans and rust-colored crewneck sweater, he looked as adorable as ever. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Admiring yourself again, Nickerson?” she said. She tried for a teasing tone, but the words came out all wrong.

Ned turned. “Oh, it’s you.”

“I thought you’d like to know that I’ve ruled out Tom Stafford as a suspect,” she said quickly.

“Great,” he nodded. “That leaves only Ray Ungar, right?”

“Uh . . .”

Ned’s dark eyes narrowed. His square-cut face grew hard. “Don’t bother to say it, Nancy. I can read it in your expression. You still think Mike is guilty.”

“Ned, what if he is ! Has it ever occurred to you that you might be wrong?”

“Sure it has. But I’m not changing my position. I know Mike. If he’s mixed up in anything funny, then sooner or later he’ll come clean.”

“Oh, Ned.”

This wasn’t going at all the way she had hoped it would. Instead of mending fences they were getting ready for another argument.

“Look,” Nancy said. “Let’s not talk about that. There’s something else I want to discuss with you. It’s about—”

She never finished her sentence. Just then her eyes shifted to the TV screen, where the tape of the Haviland game was still playing.

“Ned, stop the tape!” she shouted. “I think I just spotted the practical joker!”

Chapter Ten

“Ned, I’m serious. Stop the tape and rerun it,” Nancy repeated.

Ned was looking at her strangely, but the urgency in her voice was too powerful to ignore. Reaching over, he pressed several buttons on the VCR. The tape stopped and began to rewind.

“How far?” he asked.

“Just a couple of feet,” she said. She stepped close to the screen as the tape started again. “Okay, right here . . . watch what happens to the camera!”

The scene was a play toward the end of the game’s first half. The Emerson players brought the ball down court, dribbling and passing with deadly skill. Ned then set a classic “pick,” blocking the Haviland player guarding Mike. Mike drove to the basket and scored two points.

“What’s so special about that?” Ned wanted to know. “All that’s happening is—”

“ There! ” Nancy jabbed the freeze-frame button. “It’s not the play, it’s what happens when it’s over . . . see? Somebody knocks the camera and it picks up part of the audience.”

“Yes, but—”

“Look closely. Who’s that?” Nancy pointed to a blurry but recognizable figure.

“Ray Ungar!” Ned gasped. His astonishment faded quickly, though. “I don’t get it, Nancy. What does this prove?”