Carolyn Keene - This Side of Evil

“Better and better. A rescue effort, a thwarted kidnapping—that’ll make the story gold!” She pointed toward the helicopter, where the pilot was talking with police. “Listen, the three of you go stand right over there, with the police in the background. I’ll interview you.”

“Wait,” Nancy said, trying to interrupt. “I have to talk to you.”

“After we shoot,” Annette replied hurriedly. “Ned, you put your arm around Nancy. We’ll play up the romance angle.” She gestured to one of the cameramen. “Max! Get the camera over here on the double! We’ve got survivors to interview! I want as much smoke and flame in the picture as possible. And be sure to get the cops, too.”

Nancy grabbed her arm. “Wait!” she cried. “I don’t want you to do a story—at least, not this one. Not now!”

Annette frowned at her. “What do you mean, you don’t want a story? This is a terrific story! We’ll probably make all the American shows tomorrow.”

Nancy shook her head violently and pulled Annette over to the side. “Listen,” she said, in a low voice, “can you kill the survivor angle?”

Annette nearly dropped her mike. “What do you mean, kill it? You’re all alive, aren’t you? I mean, everybody walked away from the crash. Right?”

“Right,” Nancy said. “But a certain person needs to believe that this was a fatal crash—that there were no survivors.”

Annette stared at her. “Who? Who needs to believe it?”

“The person who’s blackmailing you,” Nancy replied soberly. “The same person who kidnapped George and sabotaged the helicopter.”

Annette’s mouth dropped open. “Am I hearing you correctly?” she asked.

Nancy nodded.

“If I don’t mention any survivors, will it help you catch the blackmailer?”

“I can almost guarantee it,” Nancy said. “Now, here’s what I want you to do.”

When Nancy had finished giving instructions, Annette hesitated.

“Well,” she said slowly, “I don’t like it, but okay. I have no idea how I’m going to explain it to the manager. He won’t be happy that we’ve missed this story.”

“If this thing works, you’ll have an even bigger story,” Nancy told her. “You’ll be able to scoop every newspaper and television station in Canada. And you’ll have the blackmailer off your back.”

Reluctantly, Annette nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, looking at her watch. “But you’ll have to give me about twenty minutes. It’ll take us at least that long to get back to the station and air this.”

“Great,” Nancy said. “That’s just about right.” She grinned. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

“You bet,” Annette said. “Good luck!” She stood up and raised her voice. “Hey, Max! Let’s get over to the helicopter. We’ve got some filming to do if we’re going to be on the air at ten.”

Max looked at Nancy and her friends. “What about them?” he asked.

“Who?” Annette asked blandly. “Come on, get that camera rolling! Lights? Where are the lights?”

“Okay, gang,” Nancy said to George and Ned, “let’s get out of here.”

“Boy, I’m ready,” George said with a sigh. She pulled Nancy’s sweater closer around her, shivering. “Hot shower, here I come.”

Ned laughed. “I think Nancy has something else in mind,” he said.

“Yeah, something like wrapping up a case,” Nancy replied. “We promised Ashley Amberton that we’d let her know when we got back so she’d know we’re safe. Let’s go pay her a visit.”

In the taxi Nancy told Ned and George what she had figured out, and what she wanted them to do.

“The important thing here is the timing,” she said. “Surprise is absolutely necessary, so it’ll all have to run like clockwork.”

Ned picked up Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “It will.”

“I certainly hope so,” George said. She was shivering so hard that her teeth were rattling. “I want to get out of these clothes. I’m freezing! And I must smell like a locker room.”

Nancy grinned. “I’ve got to admit that you are pretty ripe,” she said. “But what can you expect from somebody who’s been living in a barrel?”

She ducked the punch that George aimed at her.

At the Cherbourg Building, they signed in with the guard at the lobby desk and went up in the elevator. The deserted building was dark and spooky. But when they got to the fifteenth floor, Nancy could see the light at the end of the hall. Ashley Amberton must still be there, working late just as she’d promised.

Quietly, with Ned and George right behind her, Nancy tiptoed down to the end of the hall and pushed open the door to Ms. Amberton’s outer office. It was dark and empty, but through the glass window over the secretary’s desk, they could see into the inner office. Ms. Amberton was there, sitting behind her desk, signing papers with her bandaged left hand. The door to the outer office hung slightly ajar, and Nancy could hear the scratch-scratch of the woman’s pen on the paper.

“It’s dark in here,” Nancy whispered, “so she can’t see us.” She gave Ned a little push. “Okay, Ned,” she said. “Get going. And be careful out there!”

Ned touched her cheek affectionately. “I will. You, too, Nan,” he said. “Watch yourself.” He disappeared into the darkness.

“What time is it?” George whispered.

Nancy looked at her watch. “Three minutes to ten,” she said quietly. “That phone should ring just about now .”

As if on cue, the telephone on Ashley Amberton’s desk rang. She reached for it.

“Hello,” she said curtly. And then, with a little surprise, added, “Oh, hello, Ms. LeBeau.” She listened intently for a moment, her lips tightening. “A Cherbourg helicopter?” she asked, a deep note of concern in her voice. “Yes, of course. I’ll turn it on right now. Thank you for calling.” She put down the phone and picked up the television remote control and flicked it on.

A few minutes later, the news came on. It was the usual scene, Nancy saw—two anchor-people sitting beside each other, behind a desk. “And now,” one of them said, in a deep voice, “we take you to Annette LeBeau, at the scene of the crash. Annette?”

The scene shifted to the dark, rain-swept plaza. In the background was Nelson’s Column, and beside it, the blazing wreckage of the helicopter. The camera was focused on Annette LeBeau’s somber face as she stood in front of the fire. Behind her were a half dozen firemen and policemen. The pavement around her was strewn with bits of metal.

“Thank you, Carl,” Annette said into the microphone. The rain was dripping off the black umbrella she held. “We’re at the scene of a tragedy that apparently took four lives in downtown Montreal just moments ago. A Cherbourg Industries helicopter crashed on Place Jacques-Cartier, directly in front of Nelson’s Column. Narrowly missing the few evening strollers braving the rain as it lost power and crashed, the helicopter burst into flames almost immediately. First reports are that there were four people on board, but there appear to have been no survivors. We’ll get back to you as soon as we have more details.” The camera left Annette and zoomed in on an ambulance, parked at the curb. “A terrible tragedy in downtown Montreal,” Annette concluded. “And now, back to you, Carl.”

Ashley Amberton turned off the television set. Then, as Nancy and George watched from the darkened office, a triumphant smile spread across her face. She reached in her desk and poured herself a drink. Then she took out a file folder and pulled out a newspaper picture of Nancy. She held it over an ashtray on her desk and lit it with a cigarette lighter.