Carolyn Keene - Two Points to Murder

You and me both, Nancy thought. Aloud, she said, “I’m sorry you’re having problems. I hope you two can work them out.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” Jan said miserably. “The way things are going, though, I don’t have much hope. Well, ’bye. I’ve got to run.”

With that, she turned and walked away. Nancy felt sorry for her, yet she had a feeling that things were about to get even worse for Jan than they were already.

Mike was in the otherwise empty common room, sitting in an armchair. A chemistry textbook was open on his lap, but he didn’t appear to be reading it.

“Mike?”

He looked up. “Nancy! Haven’t seen much of you since you got to Emerson. How are you? Are you having a good time?”

Nancy felt herself tense. “I’d be having a much better one if I could get some answers to a few questions I have.”

“Questions?”

“Yes. Such as, can you explain what this is all about?”

Reaching into her back pocket, she tossed a scrap of paper onto his textbook. It was the list of names and negative numbers from his locker. She had stuffed it into her pocket while running into the sauna the night before.

Mike’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that?”

“You know where . . . from your locker. I saw the money there, too.”

“There’s no law against keeping money in a locker, is there?”

So, he was going to play it cool, was he? Nancy was disappointed. She had hoped to shock him into making a confession. Obviously, it was not going to be that easy.

She glared at him. “Don’t try to kid me, Mike. I know what you’re up to. The only thing I don’t know is why. Are you going to tell me, or shall I let the police drag it out of you?”

He crumpled the paper in his fist. “Police? What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything wrong! Not a thing!”

“No? What about the box of packing chips in your room?”

For a split second, panic flashed across his face. “They . . . they’re just junk.”

“Just like the scraps of material mixed in with them?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I think I do. You’ve been playing practical jokes on your team, and some of them have been very dangerous, to say the least.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, no?”

Nancy crossed her arms. They were playing a bluffing game now, a game that she was winning. All she had to do was to keep wearing him down. Sooner or later he would confess.

“Tell me . . . why didn’t you ride with the team to the Haviland game?” she demanded.

“That’s no secret. I needed to be alone for a while.”

“Alone to do what? To shoot out the bus’s tire?”

He half rose from his chair. “Wait a minute! Are you suggesting—?”

“You know it.”

“Well, you’re wrong! Why would I do something like that?”

Nancy shrugged. “Fun? Money? You tell me. All I know is that you own a lot of things that most scholarship students don’t . . . a gold watch . . . a black Camaro . . .”

“A what !”

“Where do you keep it, Mike? Do you drive it around a lot, or only when you go cruising for people to beat up?”

“You’re out of your mind!”

He was on his feet now, pacing back and forth with a worried expression. She had him—Nancy was sure of it! It was only a matter of minutes before he made a full confession.

“Mike, why not tell me all about it?” she coaxed him gently. “It will be a lot easier that way, I promise.”

“Nancy, I don’t know where you got all these loony ideas, but you’re totally wrong. I’ve never beaten up anyone in my Me!”

A tremor of doubt rippled through her. Could he have some kind of split personality? Was it possible that he wasn’t aware of all the things he had been doing?

“Mike, trust me. I’m not the only one who can see what’s happening. Your teammates see it. So does Jan!”

“Jan? You’ve been talking to her?”

“Yes, and she’s very worried about you. Please, Mike . . . tell me everything, okay? Do it for Jan. Do it for yourself!”

A curious calm fell over him then. He rose to his full height, as if a great invisible burden was lifting from his shoulders. His voice grew strong and determined.

“Nancy, I want to thank you. You’ve made me see how stupid I’ve been.”

“Then you’ll tell me what all those negative numbers mean?” she asked triumphantly.

“I . . . no. They don’t mean anything. Not anymore,” he said.

Nancy felt her jaw drop. “But—”

“Listen, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve made a few mistakes, I guess, but I’m not the kind of person you think I am. Not by a long shot. Now, will you excuse me? I have some important business to take care of.”

With that, he strode purposefully from the room. Nancy watched him go in shock. What was happening? Just when she thought she had turned him, he was walking out!

A minute later she was on her way back to the dorm, trying desperately to figure out how she had blown it. Had she pushed too hard? Not hard enough? Whatever it was, she had failed to get the confession she needed.

That wasn’t good. The practical joker was still at large, and who could tell what kind of trouble he would make next?

Partway across campus, she stopped. Ahead of her, half a dozen police cars had pulled up outside a classroom building. What was going on? she wondered.

She walked up to a policeman. What he told her sent an icy chill down her spine. “It’s another one of those assaults, miss . . . and this one looks especially bad!”

Chapter Twelve

A feeling of horror swept through her. In no time she remembered how Mike had hurried from the fraternity common room. Was this the “important business” that he had insisted on attending to?

It was possible. Ten minutes or more had passed since she, too, had left the fraternity. Mike could have done it in that time. Especially if he had been driving a Camaro. It was harder to imagine the police also arriving so quickly, but who could tell? The way this case was going, Nancy was ready to believe almost anything.

She had to get inside, Nancy decided. She felt responsible for what had happened. If she had thought faster she might have stopped Mike. The assault might not have occurred.

The police had roped off the building’s main entrance, so she walked instead to a door on one side. It was easy to find the scene of the assault: Policemen were everywhere, their radios crackling. In the middle of it all lay the student. A red emergency blanket was spread over him, but his face was visible. Nancy edged close . . . and gasped.

It was Captain Hook, the hunk she had seen talking on the phone!

With a jolt, she remembered how handsome she had found him that morning in the student bookstore. He didn’t look very good now, though. His face was purple with bruises, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He wasn’t moving.

Nancy turned to a nearby policeman. “Is he going to be all right?” she asked.

“Hard to say,” the officer shrugged. “He was worked over fairly hard.”

“Is he conscious?”

“No, he’s out.”

Nancy turned away, then walked outside, feeling shaky. Maybe she should have taken Bess’s advice and remained in bed, she thought. That wasn’t realistic, though. Time was quickly running out. The final Emerson game was that night, and unless she put the practical joker out of action before then it was dead certain that he would stage one final prank, a prank that would be aimed at knocking Emerson out of the running for good.

That wouldn’t be the end of it, either. Who could tell how long the beatings would continue? They might go on until each and every Emerson student had either been attacked or frightened away!