Carolyn Keene - This Side of Evil

“There’s no way of knowing until I check it out,” Nancy said. She stood up. “Thanks for being straight with me, Ms. LeBeau. I hope we can get to the bottom of this quickly.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” George said. The girls were in their bedroom at the apartment. George pulled her red lamb’s wool sweater over her head and threw it on the bed. Then she stepped out of her black jeans. “ Another blackmail victim?” She counted on her fingers. “That makes five, doesn’t it?”

Nancy nodded. “Our blackmailer’s been busy. No wonder he’s making mistakes—like sending his demands to the wrong person.” She scratched her head. “And I wonder what became of Becky Evans’s letter. I thought maybe it would turn up in Annette LeBeau’s mail, but so far it hasn’t.”

“I think this guy needs a computer,” George said. “Might help him keep his victims straight.” She pulled on her bathrobe.

“No kidding.” Nancy took off her khaki-colored corduroy blazer and hung it up in the closet. “So how did you and Ned do today?” she asked, slipping off her loafers. She wriggled her toes. “Any luck with the typewriters?”

George went over to the dresser and took the blackmail notes out of her purse, handing them to Nancy. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like these were typed at Cherbourg Industries.”

“Of course,” Nancy said thoughtfully, “the blackmailer could still work there and have typed these at home.” She pulled out the notes and began to examine them with the small magnifying glass she always carried in her purse. Shaking her head, she looked up. “I don’t see anything special. Oh, by the way, where’d Ned go?”

Before George could answer, a knock interrupted them. George hurried into the living room to answer the door.

“Who is it?” Nancy asked.

“Just the bellman from downstairs,” George called back. “He brought the newspaper up.” She came back into the bedroom, unfolding it. Her face went suddenly white.

“Nancy,” she gasped. “Look!”

Nancy looked at the paper in George’s hands. Across the front page, in big black letters, the headline screamed “NANCY DREW DIES IN MONTREAL!”

Chapter Four

Nancy dropped her magnifying glass and snatched the paper away from George. She looked at it closely. “Look, George,” she said, pointing, “the letters are all pasted up. And my picture has been cut out of another newspaper.”

“Really slick,” George said sarcastically, staring at the paper. “Whoever did this is so creative.”

“Yeah,” Nancy said, biting her lip. “And evil, too.” She picked up the phone from the bedside table.

“Who are you calling?” George asked.

“The bellman,” Nancy replied. “I want to find out how he got this paper.”

The bellman couldn’t tell Nancy anything specific. He said he’d found the paper downstairs, on the desk just inside the door of the apartment building. Somebody must have put it there when he was away. The room number was scrawled on it, so he’d brought it upstairs immediately.

“No leads there,” Nancy said with a sigh, hanging up. “The street door is only locked at night. Anybody could have walked in and left it.”

Just then Ned came home. He popped his head into the bedroom. “What’s going on?”

Without a word, Nancy handed him the paper.

“Uh-oh,” he said, taking it from her.

“ ‘Uh-oh’ is right,” Nancy agreed soberly. “Looks like we’ve spooked our blackmailer.”

Ned sat down on the bed, staring at the paper. “Where’d this picture come from, Nan? I don’t recognize it.”

Nancy frowned. “I’ve been trying to remember. It could give us a clue about who’s behind all this.”

Ned looked at Nancy. “Well, no matter who the blackmailer is, this case is getting serious. We’re not dealing with somebody who’s just shooting off interoffice memos for spare change. This is a death threat.”

George frowned. “I wonder how many people—besides Ms. Amberton, that is—know that we’re staying in this apartment.”

“That’s a good question,” Nancy said grimly. “I’ll ask Ashley Amberton tomorrow.”

“Correction,” Ned said. “ We’ll ask Ashley Amberton. I don’t think you ought to work alone on this one, Nan.” He reached for her hand. “Two will be safer than one.”

George gave them a quick glance and picked up her cosmetic case. “Well, if you two don’t mind,” she informed them lightly, “I’ve got a date tonight—for a French lesson.” She tossed her head and smiled devilishly. “I’m going to learn to say more than just oui .” She disappeared into the bathroom, humming to herself.

Nancy sighed. It didn’t take a detective to see that George had found a new friend—a very cute, very male friend. Who was this guy?

Ned squeezed her hand. “I’m ready for a romantic evening with my favorite girl. Want to try that Chinese restaurant we saw? Maybe go dancing again later?”

Nancy threw a questioning look in the direction of the bathroom. She hadn’t seen George acting so crazy in months.

“Nickerson calling Drew,” Ned said, into a pretend microphone. “How about a date tonight?”

“Affirmative,” Nancy said, turning back to Ned. George would tell her everything later—if there was anything to tell, that is.

“I suppose anyone could’ve known where you’re staying,” Ashley Amberton said the following morning. “Everyone here at Cherbourg has access to the company apartment; all they have to do is reserve it.”

“Who handles that?” Ned asked.

“A secretary down the hall.”

“We’d like to speak to her, please,” Nancy said.

The secretary showed Nancy and Ned the schedule of bookings for the apartment. Usually, they learned, the book hung on the wall beside the door. After Nancy questioned the secretary, it was clear that Ms. Amberton was right—anyone could have looked at the schedule.

Back in Ms. Amberton’s office, Nancy shook her head. “No leads in that direction,” she said.

“I’m becoming quite concerned.” Ashley Amberton went to the balcony door to look out across the river. “This thing seems to be getting bigger every day. First that business with Monique, now the threat against your life.” She threw Nancy a troubled glance. “Where is it going to end?”

“Do you know somebody named Lake Sinclair?” Nancy asked.

Ms. Amberton turned around sharply, surprise written across her face. “Lake Sinclair? Why, of course I know her. Her father is one of Mr. Cherbourg’s closest friends.” She studied Nancy, her brows drawn together in confusion. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” Nancy said, “it looks like she might be another one of our blackmailer’s victims.”

“Lake?” Ms. Amberton exclaimed. “How did you find that out?”

Nancy told her what she had learned from Annette LeBeau.

“A hit-and-run?” Ms. Amberton dropped heavily into her desk chair. “You can’t be serious. Lake’s always been a little on the wild side, but she’d never do anything like that!”

“Maybe not,” Nancy replied, “but we can’t be sure about that, can we? And I have to follow every single lead, no matter where it takes me.”

The woman nodded, watching Nancy with a look of grudging respect. “I see,” she said softly, “that you are a very professional detective, Nancy Drew.” She reached for the phone. “I’ll set up a meeting with Lake.”

Lake Sinclair’s condominium, Nancy learned from Ms. Amberton, was located in a restored section of Old Montreal, near the wharves.

“You know what we could do?” Ned asked later that morning as they left the Cherbourg Building. “We could get a caleche—you know, a horsedrawn carriage—and ride in style. But only if you’ll promise not to say one word about business while we’re on the way!”