Carolyn Keene - Two Points to Murder

Nancy absentmindedly scooped the change into her purse. The scrap of paper fell in with it, and Nancy noticed vaguely that a phone number was written on it. Captain Hook must have dropped it. She didn’t stop to think about it, though. Instead, she rushed worriedly from the booth.

That evening, Ned picked her up at eight. It was their worst date ever, Nancy decided later. The movie was terrible, and at the raucous pizza parlor they sat across from one another awkwardly, hardly talking, the only unhappy-looking couple in the entire place.

Nancy felt miserable. Ned hated her guts, she was sure of it. When he looked up from his third sausage-and-mushroom slice, she waited nervously for him to speak.

“So, where are Bess and George tonight?” he asked.

“George went to the sports complex to work out,” Nancy explained. “Bess is with her.”

A smile rugged at the corners of Ned’s mouth. “Bess went to the gym voluntarily?”

“Uh-huh.” Nancy smiled, too. “She said she didn’t want to be alone in the room after the break-in last night, soooo . . .”

“Amazing. Maybe some good will come out of this case after all.”

“If you think Bess will discover the joys of working out tonight, forget it. She only went because she was desperate.”

Suddenly, Nancy couldn’t stand the tension in the air for another second. Leaning on her elbows, she stared deep into his eyes.

“Ned, can we talk? I mean, really talk ? I acted like a jerk last night, and I’m sorry. Please say you’ll forgive me!”

Ned leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face. “Of course I forgive you,” he said. “I’m glad you see how wrong you were, too. Mike’s my buddy, and—”

“Wait a minute! Hold on! I didn’t say I was wrong . Not about Mike. What I said was, I acted dumb.”

Ned cooled visibly. “Then you still suspect him of being the practical joker?”

“Of course. The stuff in that carton—”

“Nancy, I can’t believe this!” Ned exploded. “Doesn’t it matter to you that I’ve known Mike for two years? Don’t you care that he’s my friend and that I trust him?”

“Sure I do! That’s what I’m trying to say . . . I was stupid to question your judgment last night. I shouldn’t have argued like that.”

Ned cocked his head warily. “So you’ll back off on investigating him?”

“No, but—”

“Then don’t bother to apologize. Nothing has changed.”

“Ned, please!”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe you think I’m a dumb jock, but I believe in supporting my team. I play on their side until the game is over.”

Nancy’s heart ached. She didn’t think of Ned as a “dumb jock.” He was loyal and dependable and fierce when their backs were against a wall. She loved those qualities in him—and now they were tearing them apart!

Nancy felt even worse when Ned dropped her off at the dorm. He didn’t kiss her. They didn’t hug. Instead, she merely stood in the middle of the parking lot, watching the taillights of his car disappear around a corner.

Now what was she going to do? she wondered. She couldn’t give up the case, not after last night. But she couldn’t stand what was happening to her and Ned, either!

Suddenly, a sharp sound spun her around. As she watched, a man burst from a side entrance to a nearby dorm. He ran to a black Camaro, hopped in, and gunned the engine.

The next second, the Camaro was heading for her at top speed!

Chapter Six

Nancy couldn’t believe it. He was going to run her down!

Reacting instinctively, she dove. It was just like diving into a pool, except that she rolled as she hit. Headlights swept the pavement. Tires swished past her head. The Camaro missed her by niches!

Furious, Nancy leapt to her feet. She wanted the Camaro’s license number! But its rear tights were out, she noticed. As it fishtailed on an icy patch and turned the corner, all she could see was a menacing black wedge disappearing into the night. Then it was gone.

Nancy’s breath came fast and hard. Her heart pounded. No way was she going to back off now! she resolved. Not after an attempt on her life! How long had the guy been waiting in the warmth of the dorm for her to appear? An hour? Two?

Off in the distance, a siren began to wail. As it came closer, she gradually realized what had actually happened. The Camaro hadn’t been after her. Its driver had been making a getaway. And his first victim—or maybe a witness—must have telephoned the police.

Sure enough, a minute later a squad car pulled into the lot, its roof lights twirling. Two campus policemen jumped out and raced into the dorm—the same dorm from which she had seen the Camaro driver run.

Nancy followed. It didn’t take long to find the trouble. In the stairwell lay a male student, about eighteen years old, she judged. He was still breathing, but not very well. He had been worked over by a pro.

More police arrived. As they did, she recalled the apparently random assaults that Coach Burnett had mentioned. This student was the latest victim—and she had seen the culprit!

The student stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he coughed up blood.

“Hang on, son. An ambulance is on the way,” a policeman said.

“I’m okay,” the boy gasped.

“No, you’re not. You’re hurt. Don’t move . . . just tell us what happened. Can you identify your assailant?”

“I . . . no. I didn’t see him,” the boy said.

What! That was impossible, Nancy knew. The beating he had received must have lasted several minutes. How could he not have seen his attacker in that time?

“Are you sure?” the policeman asked. “Anything you can tell us will help.”

“Sorry, I . . . I didn’t see his face,” the student insisted.

He was lying! But why?

Nancy stepped forward. “Excuse me. I saw the man. I was standing in the parking lot when he ran from the building. He nearly ran me down with his car.”

Instantly she was surrounded by policemen. She gave her statement slowly and carefully. Her only regret was that she couldn’t describe the man’s face, only his approximate height and weight. That was all she had been able to see in the split second it had taken him to sprint from the dorm to his car.

When she was finished, the policemen turned to the student who had phoned them. He had heard the beating taking place and called from his room.

Nancy stayed until the ambulance arrived. As the student was wheeled away on a gurney, she heard him murmuring, “Please don’t tell my parents! Please don’t call them!”

There wasn’t much hope of that, she knew. But why did he want his parents kept in the dark? Was he afraid they would be angry at him? Maybe he was just delirious. She didn’t know.

“That was one crazy night you had!” George said the next morning.

Nancy pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate. “No kidding! Crazy and strange. I feel lucky to be here.”

“Too bad that student wasn’t as lucky as you.” Bess shuddered. “Honestly, Nancy, I don’t know how you could stand to look at him.”

“I’m not sure, either.”

That was the truth. At the time, the sight of his battered face hadn’t bothered her. When she pictured it now, though, in the cold light of day, she felt sick.

“Well, at least it’s over,” George said, squeezing her hand.

“Not quite. This morning I remembered some details about the Camaro. It had smoked windows and custom hubcaps . . . you know, the ones that look like wire wheels? I should add that to my statement.”

“What about the practical joker case?”

“I’ll get back to it right after I visit the police station.”

Outside, the air was warmer than it had been during the previous few days. The sun was bright. Nancy had to step around the puddles in the sidewalks as she strolled across the campus toward the police station.