Carolyn Keene - Two Points to Murder

Her assailant had undoubtedly jammed the timer, too, she knew.

Nancy removed her jacket. Already she could feel a drop of sweat trickling down her back. At least she still had her flashlight! Flicking it on, she looked around.

The sauna contained nothing more than a heating unit bolted to the wall, a wooden floor, and a bench made of wooden slats. That was it. No tools. No loose objects. Nothing she could use to help pry or batter her way out.

She examined the door. Its hinges were on the outside. She pushed against it once more. No good! The door swung outward an inch, but that was all. What was on the other side, anyway? An elephant?

No, she realized—the unused lockers! Two or more sections had been pushed across the floor and fitted sideways against the door. That explained the bumps and scrapes she had heard. Great. Now how was she going to get out?

Calmly at first, then with mounting concern, she examined the possibilities.

Screaming? The sound of her voice had to travel through two doors, down a side hallway, down a main hallway, and then maybe—just maybe—a guard would eventually hear it. Forget it, she told herself. Better to conserve energy.

Bess and George? She had told them where she was going, naturally, but how long would it take them to realize that something had gone wrong? Until one o’clock? Two o’clock? That was no use! She could be dead by then!

No, she would have to get herself out of this. But how?

The air around her was growing very hot. To help herself stay cool, Nancy took off her boots, jeans, and sweater. That helped, but not too much. She was sweating heavily, and the hot air was burning her lungs.

How much longer before she got dizzy? she wondered. Would her vision begin to blur? What then?

Stop it! Get yourself out of here! her mind screamed.

Going to the door again, she pushed it hard. It wouldn’t budge! She hammered at it with her hands, but that was even more futile than pushing. The exertion was making her sweat more, too.

She sat down on the bench and tried to think. Impossibly, the air seemed to grow hotter still. She was turning into roast detective—and fast!

Ned. This was all his fault, she told herself bitterly. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, then she wouldn’t have had to gather evidence by such desperate means. Well, he was going to be sorry! When they found her body here in the morning (cooked medium-well) he was going to—

Get out! Get out! Get out! Once again, she willed herself into action, snatching up her flashlight, only to drop it again. It was burning hot! How was she going to see anything now? If only there was a light—

The overhead light, of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner! Using her shirt as insulation, she picked up the flashlight and looked around. Yes, there was the switch by the door! She flipped it on, and light flooded the sauna.

Now she needed something small and made of metal. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she brought out her silver pen. It was a gift from her father that she treasured, but right now that didn’t matter. Saving her life was more important than saving the pen!

Carefully she wrapped her leather belt around one end of it. Then, standing on the bench, she held the pen in one hand and removed the overhead light bulb with the other, using her shirt to keep from burning her hand. The sauna went dark. Again and again she jabbed the pen upward until, at last, it plunged into the live socket!

Sparks showered around her. Nancy smelled smoke and gave a cry of triumph. There! She had shorted the circuit! Had she tripped the breaker that controlled the heating unit, too?

Stepping off the bench, she peered through the unit’s vent. Inside, its heating coils slowly changed from white . . . to orange . . . to red . . . to nothing! Thank goodness! At least the sauna wasn’t going to get any hotter.

It was still very hot, though. Not only that, her condition was deteriorating. She was dizzy. More than anything in the world she wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But she couldn’t. She had to keep going!

Taking up her sweater and flashlight again, she went to the bench and again began to tug each of its slats. All were pegged securely in place, but one seemed a little loose. She tugged at it, fighting off dizziness, until it came free. Then, wasting no time, she used it to punch out the window in the door.

Cool air rushed in through the opening. Nancy nearly cried with relief. Pushing the slat through the opening, she used it as a lever. The locker outside didn’t move at first, but then she caught a metal lip and the side closest to her lifted six inches into the air. She was unable to overturn the monster, but it did slide backward a bit. A few more tries, and she had worked it back an entire foot!

She tried the door. It opened farther, but not enough. Working with the slat, she levered and pushed, slowly moving the lockers backward. Finally, she opened the door wide enough to slip out!

But would she make it? In spite of the cool air now washing over her clammy skin, Nancy was exhausted. Her head ached, and bright spots of color were dancing before her eyes. Reeling, she groped for her clothes and boots. Did she have them in her hands? She wasn’t sure. Never mind, she thought . . .

. . . just get out the door!

“Nancy, you shouldn’t be up! You should be in bed, resting,” Bess wailed.

Nancy didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled a gray Emerson sweatshirt over her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She had things to do this morning. Important things—like confronting a certain Emerson forward named Mike O’Shea!

“Come on, Nancy, won’t you sleep just a little bit longer?” Bess pleaded.

“Oh, leave her alone,” said George, who was lying on her bed. “You know what that look on her face means. She’s up, and that’s it!”

“Well, all right. But why kill yourself when you don’t have to?”

That was exactly the point, Nancy felt. She could have died in that sauna, and it had been totally unnecessary. The evidence in Mike’s room should have convinced her. But no, like a fool she had listened to Ned.

Well, no more! Nancy Drew was not going to act like a wimp for one minute longer! She now had more than enough evidence to make a case against Mike, and that was exactly what she was going to do! As soon as she found her boots.

An hour later, a solid breakfast in her stomach, Nancy marched up to the front door of Omega Chi Epsilon. She was about to pull it open when a girl burst out—a short, snub-nosed brunette. It was Mike’s girlfriend, she remembered.

“Excuse me,” the girl said. She started to walk past Nancy, but then stopped. “Wait, aren’t you Ned’s girlfriend?”

“That’s right. Nancy Drew.”

“Hi. We met at the party the other night, remember? My name’s Jan . . . Jan Teller.”

“Yes, I remember.” Nancy held out her hand. Jan didn’t look very happy, she noticed. Her eyes had circles under them, and she was glancing around nervously.

“Jan, I know this is a nosy question, but are you okay?” Nancy asked.

“Sure!” Jan said, trying to look cheerful. “I just—oh, who am I kidding? I’m not okay. I feel totally awful!”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thanks, but no. It’s my boyfriend, Mike . . . you’ve met him, haven’t you?”

Nancy nodded. Had she ever!

“He’s been impossible lately,” Jan continued. “Moody. Irritable. Sometimes he even disappears and won’t tell me where he’s been!”

“Maybe he’s just tense because of the pressure on the Wildcats,” Nancy suggested carefully.

“Oh, no . . . it’s not that. Mike loves basketball! He’s usually very happy during the season. I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is it’s driving me crazy!”