Carolyn Keene - This Side of Evil

“Of course,” Nancy said soothingly. “I understand how important it is to get to the bottom of this quickly.”

“And there’s one more thing,” Ms. Amberton added. “It’s imperative that I know everything you discover, no matter how inconsequential, so that I can keep Mr. Cherbourg informed.” She tapped her long, red-polished nails against the desk. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, of course,” Nancy said with an inward sigh. It was always better to have free rein on a case, but she could understand that Ms. Amberton needed to be on top of things. “Now, can you tell me how you learned about the blackmail? Did the victims come and tell you about it voluntarily?” Nancy couldn’t imagine wanting to tell her troubles to anyone with such cold eyes.

Ms. Amberton lifted her chin. “Of course not,” she said. “I found a blackmail letter in Monique’s desk drawer. When I confronted her with it, she told me that it was the third one she’d received.”

“What about the other two?”

“A few days later I found Becky in tears in the washroom. When I pressed her, she confessed that she was also being threatened. I noticed Jacques acting strangely that same day, and he finally told me what was going on. Like Monique, they both received letters demanding money or their crimes would be revealed.”

“How much were the payments?”

“Small amounts—fifty or a hundred dollars at a time. Of course, none of the victims have much money to spare.”

Nancy looked at her. Ms. Amberton’s stare was chilly. “And their crimes?”

The woman shrugged. “Petty, of course, little things out of their pasts that they don’t want anyone to know about. A few years ago, Monique forged a check. She paid the money back, and the case was dismissed since it was her first offense. The file clerk stole some jewelry and was sent to jail for six months. And Jacques, the chauffeur—well, his crime was a good deal more serious. In fact, I haven’t even told Mr. Cherbourg about it for fear that he would dismiss Jacques.”

Nancy frowned. “What is it?”

“The man was involved with drugs, I’m afraid.” Ms. Amberton tapped her fingers briskly on the desk. “Mr. Cherbourg is adamant about not employing drug users.”

Nancy closed her notebook and stood up. “I’d like to see both the file clerk and the chauffeur, please. And could you give me Monique Levere’s home address?”

At that moment the door opened and a young woman stumbled in, looking dazed. It was the same woman who had been sitting at Monique’s desk.

“Oh, Ms. Amberton,” she gasped. “The most awful thing has happened!” She began to cry.

“Stop that sniffling, Cynthia,” Ms. Amberton snapped. “And speak up. What is it?”

The young woman gulped back a sob. “It’s Monique! She tried to commit suicide this morning, and her roommate, who answered the phone in her apartment, said she will probably die!”

Chapter Two

Monique had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance, Nancy learned after Cynthia quieted a little. Ms. Amberton arranged for Mr. Cherbourg’s chauffeur to drive Nancy to the hospital, and he was waiting downstairs when she hurried out.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said, opening the door of the long black limousine.

“Bonjour,” Nancy said, climbing into the backseat. She remembered that in Montreal most people spoke French. “Could I ask you a few questions?” she began as they rushed toward the hospital. In French, Nancy asked the chauffeur about the blackmail demands he had received, but he couldn’t tell her much more than she already knew.

“Oui,” he said. “There were letters, two of them. They wanted money, more money than I have.”

“But you paid?” Nancy asked.

He nodded, looking straight ahead. “When Ms. Amberton found out that I was in trouble, she lent me the money. I cannot pay her back, but at least I am no longer afraid of losing my job because I cannot meet the demands of the blackmailer.”

Nancy frowned. She’d almost rather risk the wrath of a blackmailer than borrow money from someone like Ashley Amberton. “Did you save the blackmail letters?”

He pulled some papers out of his uniform pocket and handed them to her. “Here they are,” he said, with what sounded like relief. “I hope you catch this crook. It is a horrible thing to be blackmailed. I live in fear every day of losing my job.”

“I understand,” Nancy told him. “I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best to get this straightened out as soon as possible.”

She got out of the limousine in front of the hospital. Hurrying up the steps, she glanced quickly at the two letters the chauffeur had handed her. The message, typed in French, was identical in each one: “Put $2,000 in a red plastic bag and drop it into the trash can at Nelson’s Column on Monday at noon. If you don’t, your employer will learn about the drugs.”

Monique Levere was alive, Nancy discovered, but pale and groggy after her narrow escape from an overdose of sleeping pills. There was a frightened look in her eyes as she lay in the hospital bed.

Nancy introduced herself and asked Monique what had happened. In a small voice the young woman told Nancy that she’d been sick for a few days. She had taken a sleeping pill in the middle of the night, and the next thing she knew, she was in the emergency room having her stomach pumped.

“I told the police a million times that I took only one pill, to help me sleep,” Monique said. “They don’t believe me, though. They say I got sleepy and took the whole bottle by mistake—or that I tried to kill myself!”

“Did you keep the bottle beside your bed?” Nancy asked calmly.

Monique nodded, obviously fighting hysteria. “I think somebody put something into that pill! I think somebody tried to kill me!”

Nancy sat down beside the bed. “Can you think of a reason why someone might want to kill you?” she asked.

Monique shook her head. “Not unless it was the blackmailer.” She gulped. “I can’t pay any more. Maybe he got tired of waiting for me to pay and decided to kill me.”

“How much have you paid altogether?” Nancy asked.

“Hundreds of dollars,” Monique moaned. “Maybe as much as five hundred.”

Nancy shook her head. Five hundred dollars was not that much, really. And there was no reason to believe the blackmailer would gain anything from Monique’s death. “What did the letters say?”

“They all said the same thing: Tut the money into a red plastic bag and throw it in the trash can at Nelson’s Column. If you don’t, your mother will find out that you are a forger and a thief.’ It was so long ago,” she added, “and in another city even. I never dreamed anyone would find out about it! I thought I was safe!”

“Why your mother?” Nancy probed.

Monique broke into tears. “My mother is old and sick. News like that could kill her!” She looked up imploringly, tears streaming down her face. “You’ve got to find the blackmailer, Ms. Drew! My mother’s life depends on it, and so does mine!”

“Have you still got the letters?”

“They’re at home.” She turned her head away, sniffling loudly. “You can have them if you want.”

“What about the bottle of sleeping pills?” Nancy stood up to go.

“The police took it, but I know it was empty.” She turned back toward Nancy and smiled weakly. “If you see Ms. Amberton today, please tell her that I’ll be back at work very soon. And thank her for coming to my apartment yesterday and bringing me flowers. They’re beautiful.”

I guess I’ll have to revise my opinion of Ashley Amberton, Nancy thought as she left the room. Lending money to one of the blackmail victims, bringing flowers to a sick employee. Maybe she wasn’t really as unfeeling as she appeared.