Carolyn Keene - This Side of Evil

“Oh, Ned, it sounds so romantic!” Nancy cried. “But what about George?” She pushed up the sleeves of her royal blue cotton sweater. “Shouldn’t we call the apartment to see if she’s back from her jogging? Maybe she’d like to go, too.”

“Sure, but I think she has a date,” he said. Ned reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of Canadian coins. “Need change?”

“Yes,” Nancy said and grinned. “Thank you.”

Nancy let the phone ring a dozen times, but George didn’t answer. “I guess she did go out,” she said regretfully, hanging up the phone.

“So what do you say about that carriage ride?” Ned asked.

“What are we waiting for?” Nancy answered with a happy smile.

They walked over to the plaza, where Ned hailed a shiny black caleche, which was pulled by a large gray horse. Nancy climbed in, and just as Ned was about to get in beside her, he held up his hand. Asking the driver to wait for a minute, he disappeared in the direction of a flower stand. When he came back, he was carrying a tiny bouquet of violets and lilies of the valley. He handed them to Nancy with a grand flourish.

“Oh, Ned,” she said, touched. “How sweet!” She held the violets against her blue sweater. They looked even more fragile and exotic against the bold color of her top.

“It wouldn’t be a spring day in Montreal without flowers,” Ned said, climbing in beside her.

Nancy leaned back in the seat, breathing in the rich fragrance of the flowers. The bright spring sunshine warmed her as the horse pulled the caleche away from the curb.

“This was a great idea,” she said. Ned was right—for the next few minutes, Nancy would forget all about the case and just enjoy the Montreal sunshine and Ned there beside her.

Ned pulled his guidebook out of his pocket and looked through it. “Here on the left, ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned, glancing up, “is the famous Nelson Column, dedicated to the British commander who—”

Nancy sat straight up. “The Nelson what?”

“The Nelson Column. Right over there.”

Nancy looked where Ned was pointing. At one end of the open square stood a tall stone column with a statue on the top. “That’s the place!” Nancy exclaimed.

“Hey, you’re right!” Ned said. “The place our blackmail victims leave their payoffs!”

Nancy stared at the column. There was a trash can a few yards from it, probably the very one where the victims made their drops.

She thought for a moment. “You know, Ned,” she said, “maybe the quickest way to wrap up this case would be to wait until there’s another letter. Then stake out the drop and wait for the blackmailer to—”

Ned began to laugh. “Do you realize what we’re doing?” he asked.

Guiltily, Nancy nodded. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “We’re talking business again.”

Ned squeezed her hand. “I understand,” he said softly. “It’s just so much a part of you that you can’t really put it out of your mind, can you?”

Nancy shook her head. “Yes, I can,” she said stubbornly. “Starting right now!”

After a while the caleche turned down a side street, the horse’s hooves clip-clopping steadily on the pavement. The brick and fieldstone houses and small shops were built close to the street. They had steeply pitched copper roofs with dormer windows and brightly colored shutters. Some of the buildings also had wrought-iron balconies, and every now and then Nancy glimpsed a shaded courtyard, hidden between buildings. There were old-fashioned street lamps on every corner and pots of flowers beside the doorways.

Nancy sighed. “It looks just the way it must have looked a hundred years ago.”

“Yeah,” Ned replied as a car zipped around them. “If you ignore the cars.” He slipped his arm around Nancy, and she dropped her head against his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, nudging her. “There’s Notre Dame. Isn’t it beautiful?”

She turned and saw the pretty stone church with its central spire and two side pinnacles in front of them. And then she imagined her wedding day in a church just like that. What would her dress look like, and what would Ned—

“Hey, Drew,” Ned said, “you got something on your mind?”

Nancy blushed. “Not at all, Nickerson,” she said, smiling. “Not at all.”

Ned’s arm tightened around her and he bent toward her, his lips close to hers. “Nancy,” he said softly, “I—”

Just at that moment, a car careened recklessly around them, grazing the wheel of the caleche. The frightened horse neighed, rearing up on his hind legs as the driver fought to control him. The horse raced off at breakneck speed, the carriage bouncing down a narrow cobblestone alley and around a corner, where its wheels ran up over the high curb. The carriage began to tilt dangerously.

“Hang on, Nancy!” Ned cried, holding her tight. “We’re going over!”

Chapter Five

The bouncing caleche teetered on two wheels as the driver yanked desperately on the reins, pulling with all his strength and shouting, “Whoa! Whoa!” Nancy found herself thrown into one corner, with Ned’s arms tight around her. She held her breath as the carriage rocketed over the curb and into the crowded street. But it stayed upright! After a moment the driver managed to bring the terrified horse under control. Amazingly no pedestrians had been injured.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked breathlessly when they finally came to a stop.

“I—I guess so,” Nancy answered, her voice shaky as she tried to sit up straight. She rubbed her throbbing temple where she had bumped it.

Ned climbed out of the carriage and turned back to help Nancy down. She got out and began to dust herself off.

“Monsieur, mademoiselle, a thousand pardons! Please don’t go!” the driver cried, climbing down from his perch. “My horse was frightened by the car, that’s all.”

Nancy nodded. “I know,” she said, rubbing her head. “But I think I’ve had enough of caleches for one day.” She reached into the carriage to pick up her flowers, and looked at Ned. “How about if we walk the rest of the way?”

“Good idea,” Ned said. He tried to pay the driver, but his money was refused.

Lake Sinclair lived in one of the restored brick-and-stone buildings on Saint-Denis Street. On the outside the building looked as if it were untouched by modern technology. It appeared hundreds of years old, with its quaint iron railings and gray-green slate roof. Even the parking area had been cleverly disguised to look like an old brick courtyard.

But inside, Lake Sinclair’s house was ultramodern, filled with sophisticated contemporary furniture and a few pieces of exceptional art. Lake herself was a beautiful young woman, only a few years older than Nancy. She was dressed in a chic white jogging suit. Her bright auburn hair had curled in damp tendrils around her face, which was flushed with color.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, tossing her long hair carelessly. “I’ve just gotten back from a run in the stadium, and I haven’t had time to change.” She led them down a softly lit hallway. Off to one side, Nancy could see what looked like an athletic training room. It was full of exercise machines and weights. George would love this, Nancy thought.

“In the stadium?” Nancy asked eagerly. “My friend George is dying for a chance to run in Olympic Stadium, but we’ve been told it’s closed to the public.”

“I’m sure my dad would be glad to arrange something,” Lake replied, showing them into the living room. She sank down onto the plush sofa and a white angora cat jumped up on her lap, purring loudly. “He’s on the board of directors at the stadium.”

“That would be great,” Nancy said as she and Ned took the chairs opposite the sofa. “George will be delighted.”