Carolyn Keene - Two Points to Murder

“Okay, thanks, Coach Burnett. I’ll let you know the second I’ve got any solid leads.”

When the gym was finally empty, Nancy held a conference with Bess and George.

“First we’ve got to establish how the joker got in. George, you check every door to the building. I want to know whether they’re locked.”

“But there must be dozens!” George objected. “How will I find them all?”

“Walk around the outside of the building. That’ll be fastest,” Nancy suggested. “Bess, you check out the front entrance. Find out who signed the guest register today and whether someone without an Emerson ID could have slipped in.”

“You got it, Nan.”

While her friends were busy with their assignments, Nancy borrowed a ladder and a knife from a janitor, cut down the effigy, and examined it. It was crudely sewn from a set of one-piece long underwear. Its head was part of a plain white pillowcase. Inside, it was stuffed with Styrofoam packing chips. No clues there, Nancy decided. Anyone could have assembled the materials.

She was studying the note pinned to the effigy’s chest when her friends returned.

“The exits can only be opened from the inside,” George reported. “Whoever did this was either let in or came in through the front entrance.”

“Good work. Bess?”

“The guard claims that security is extra tight because of those assaults the coach mentioned. Only students with Emerson ID cards can get in.”

“What about the guest register? Any names down for today?”

“Yes, three . . . Nancy Drew, George Fayne, and Bess Marvin. That’s it.”

“Terrific.” Nancy groaned. “That blows my first theory. I figured the joker might be someone connected with a rival team, but since it’s impossible to sneak in here that idea is out.”

“The joker could still have been let in through a side exit by someone else,” George reasoned.

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Practical jokers don’t usually work in pairs. My guess is that the culprit came in through the front entrance with the dummy hidden in a gym bag.”

“But, Nancy!” Bess was horrified. “If that’s true it means—”

“Yes. The practical joker is someone from Emerson College!”

A short while later Ned appeared. In his jeans and crisp shirt, his hair still damp from the shower, Nancy thought he looked fantastic. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but his grim expression made it clear that he was in no mood for fun.

“Think you can track down this clown?” he asked as Nancy drove to the dormitory in which Ned had arranged for the girls to stay.

“It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Yes, with Nancy on the case the creep’ll be caught in no time,” Bess said from the backseat.

“I hope so. These incidents are getting on everyone’s nerves.”

“Yours, too?” Nancy teased lightly.

“No, but I can understand why some of the guys are upset. We’re under a lot of pressure, and the practical jokes just add to it.”

“I can imagine,” George remarked. “It must be like waiting for bombs to explode, except that you never know when or where they’ll go off.”

“Exactly.”

Two more turns brought them to the dormitory, a modern brick-and-glass building by a parking lot. Ned helped them unload their gear, then began to carry Nancy’s duffel bag and Bess’s suitcase toward the side entrance.

“Ned, you can’t go in there with us!” Nancy said.

“Sure I can. Didn’t I tell you?” He grinned. “It’s a coed dorm!”

George chuckled. “Hear that, Bess? You should love it here.”

“Will you please knock it off? How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not here to hunt guys,” Bess declared. “Anyway, who cares? It’s strictly buddy-buddy in coed dorms, right, Ned?”

“So I hear,” he confirmed.

Their room was on the third floor. It was part of a suite that had its own bathroom and kitchenette. Nancy loved it.

“Who usually lives here?” she asked.

“It’s a spare suite,” Ned informed her. “The school keeps it for special visitors.” He handed them each a key to the room and another to the dorm’s side entrance.

Nancy tossed her duffel bag at the foot of one of the beds, then walked with Ned to the door. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Uh, Ned . . . any chance we can get together while I’m here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. Won’t you be pretty busy tackling this case?”

“Not that busy, I hope.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Omega Chi Epsilon is having a party tonight after the game. Care to go with me?”

Happiness flooded through her. “You bet!” She grinned. “Can Bess and George go, too?”

“Of course. Just wait for me outside the gym after the game, okay?”

“ Okay! ”

He kissed her then. It was nothing heavy—just a “see you later” sort of kiss—but it was enough for Nancy. Her heart soared.

“Will you look at the size of that crowd!” Bess whistled in amazement.

The three girls were walking toward the sports complex for that evening’s game against St. George’s College. A noisy line several hundred people long stretched from the main entrance to the middle of the parking lot. Homemade banners and purple-and-orange Emerson pennants were everywhere.

“Gee, I hope we’ll be able to get hi!” George said.

“We will, don’t worry. The gym holds at least four thousand,” Nancy told her.

“Good,” Bess put in, “but where are the other team’s supporters going to sit?”

“Outside, if the Emerson fans have anything to say about it.”

As they joined the line, however, Nancy noticed that not everyone was there to cheer on the rival teams. Up near the doors, which were not yet open, a group of sign-carrying students was staging a protest. She could hear jeering voices from the crowd, urging them to get lost.

“I wonder what’s going on?” she said curiously.

“Why don’t you and George check it out? I’ll hold our places,” Bess offered.

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

As she and George drew close, Nancy saw that the signs the protesters carried read “Say ‘No’ to Burnett’s Budget!” and “Scholarship Before Sports!” The protesters seemed discouraged by the crowd’s hostility, but their leader—a brown-haired, confident-looking boy—was determined to continue the demonstration.

“C’mon . . . we can’t give up yet!” he roared. “Hey . . . how about you two girls? Will you sign our petition?” He thrust a clipboard at Nancy and George.

Nancy glanced at the letter it held. There were only half a dozen signatures on it. “Uh . . . I don’t know. What does it say?”

“It demands that the trustees assign less money to the Physical Education department in next year’s budget.”

George bristled. “Why should they do that? Physical education is important!”

“Sure, but not more important than academics. Yet each year the P.E. department gets more money than any other. It’s not fair.”

“Yes it is,” George countered. “Sports programs are expensive.”

The boy’s face darkened. “Oh, I get it—you’re a jock. You care more about the locker room than about the classroom.”

“And you’d rather grind than unwind!” George shot back. “Tell me something—what makes you think you know what’s best for this school?”

“Well, for one thing I’m president of the student council. Tom Stafford’s the name, in case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t. But I still say sports are important.”

“Typical,” Tom said, turning away in disgust. “You jocks are all alike—all brawn, no brains.”

Now Nancy was angry, too. She believed strongly in free speech, but the student leader’s last remark was too much.