Carolyn Keene - Hit and Run Holiday

“So?” The boy moved over in the booth and casually slid his arm across the back of it. “My name’s Mike, by the way, and I don’t think your story’s weird at all. Your friend’s friend is probably having a blast and just forgot about you. My advice is to enjoy yourself and forget about her .”

“Well, I would, except for one thing.” Nancy noticed that Mike’s hand was now resting on her bare shoulder. “I was supposed to give her something . . . some money. And I just know I can’t have a good time until I find her and get that cash off my hands.”

“Well, a good time’s definitely what it’s all about,” Mike said, tightening his fingers on her shoulder. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Nancy reached into her straw shoulder bag and took out the photo. “Here she is. Her name’s Rosita.”

“Pretty,” Mike said, barely glancing at the picture. “But not as pretty as you.”

“Thanks,” Nancy replied, “but have you seen her?”

“Afraid not. Now, what are you and I going to do for fun tonight?” Mike scooted even closer to Nancy and bent his head down as if he were going to kiss her.

At the last second, Nancy ducked under his arms and left him sitting alone in the booth. Her plans for the night just didn’t include Mike. “Sorry,” she told him, “but until I find Rosita, I’m afraid I won’t have any fun at all.”

Abandoning her pizza, Nancy went out into the warm, breezy night, Mike frowning after her. From now on, she told herself, no more warm-up conversations. Just show the picture and ask the question. If you get stuck with any more Mikes, this search will take forever.

Unfortunately, Fort Lauderdale was full of Mikes, looking to have fun. Some were nice, some came on a little too strong, a few actually took her questions seriously. All of them were interested in Nancy, and none of them had seen Rosita.

By ten-thirty, Nancy was starting to feel discouraged. She’d hit every fast-food place on the strip and turned down invitations to dance in at least half the discos—and still no Rosita. What was the girl, anyway? A phantom? Somebody has to have seen her, Nancy thought.

By that time, the beach parties were going strong. Campfires were blazing, and radios and cassettes were blasting up and down the shoreline. Carrying her sandals, Nancy strolled along the soft, cool sand, stopping at every gathering to ask if anyone had seen the girl in the picture.

One girl thought she looked just like a girl from her dorm. “But she didn’t come to Lauderdale, so it couldn’t be the same one, could it?”

No, Nancy agreed, it couldn’t. She was getting so many “sorrys,” and “never saw hers,” and “forget about her, stick with mes,” that when she finally heard the words, “Oh, sure,” she thought she’d imagined them.

“What did you say?” she asked the boy who’d spoken.

“I said, sure, I saw her about twenty minutes ago.” He took a closer look at the photograph. “Yeah, that’s the one. She was with one of the lifeguards. Ricardo, I think his name is.”

Suddenly Nancy wasn’t tired anymore. Her luck was changing. “Where were they?” she asked.

“Over that way,” the boy said, pointing down the beach. “They were leaning against some trees, talking.” He smiled and gave Nancy a long look. “Hey, if you don’t find them, come on back, why don’t you? I plan to be here all night long.”

“Thanks,” Nancy replied, smiling, “but I don’t.” She trotted down the beach, keeping her ringers crossed that Ricardo and Rosita would still be there.

As Nancy approached a grove of palm trees she saw two shadowy figures emerge and begin walking along the wet sand, close to the water, toward the docks where Dirk had taken her that morning. The tide was still out, and the moon was full. Nancy could see clearly that one of the figures was Ricardo. The other one—shorter and with long, dark hair—had to be Rosita.

Nancy followed them, keeping a safe distance, sticking to the trees wherever there were any. Ricardo and Rosita seemed to be having a very intense conversation, and Nancy was sure they had no idea she was behind them. She was looking ahead, not really watching where she was going, when she stepped into another grove of palms, tripped over two reclining bodies and went sprawling head first into the sand.

A girl gave a piercing shriek and a boy grumbled, “Hey, give us a break, huh? Things were just getting romantic here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Nancy said, trying not to laugh. It would have been funny, but she was worried. Had Ricardo and Rosita heard the shriek? Not wanting to lose sight of them—or ruin the little love scene—Nancy stepped out of the trees and into the bright moonlight.

Ricardo and Rosita had stopped. They were looking in Nancy’s direction. As soon as Ricardo saw her, he grabbed Rosita’s hand, and the two of them took off running.

Nancy tore after them, not bothering to hide anymore. All she wanted was to catch up with them. Running on the wet, hard-packed sand, she saw them round a bend in the shoreline, and pushed herself even harder, not wanting to lose them. The music from the beach parties was growing fainter; as Nancy rounded the bend, she realized she’d left the crowds behind. She stopped suddenly and looked around, panting from her dash along the beach.

In front of her were the docks. She saw a few boats tied up and heard soft thuds as they bumped against the pilings. But that was all. Nancy was alone.

Still breathing hard, Nancy kicked at the sand in frustration. Then she headed for the docks, thinking that Ricardo and Rosita might be hiding in one of the boats. Of course, the way her luck was running, they’d probably doubled back. They could be sitting around a campfire at that very minute, she told herself, roasting hot dogs and having a good laugh.

Nancy had dropped her sandals somewhere along the way, and as she stepped onto the wooden pier, she reminded herself to be careful of splinters. But before she’d taken two steps, she gasped—not because she felt a splinter sliding into her foot, but because a hand, reaching out from the shadows, was closing tightly on her arm.

Chapter Eight

Nancy whirled around, ready to fight as hard as she had to, and found herself facing the pretty, black-haired girl whose photograph she’d been carrying with her for the past four hours. Nancy glanced around nervously. No Ricardo in sight, but she figured he was lurking somewhere close by, watching.

Still on edge, Nancy looked at the girl again and was surprised to see that she was nervous too. Her eyes were wide with fear. She’d dropped Nancy’s arm and was clenching her hands together tightly.

“Rosita,” Nancy said. “You’re Rosita, aren’t you?”

The name turned the girl’s fear to terror. She backed away and shook her head vehemently. “Maria,” she stammered. “Maria.”

Nancy was confused. For one thing, the girl whom she’d thought was her enemy was hardly acting like an enemy—one loud “boo” from Nancy and she’d probably collapse. Furthermore, her name wasn’t Rosita.

“Okay,” Nancy said. “You’re Maria. My name’s Nancy Drew. Now that the introduction’s out of the way, why don’t you tell me what you and Ricardo and Rosita are up to? Whatever you got Kim involved in just might have killed her, and . . .”

The girl was shaking her head again, holding out her hand for Nancy to stop talking. “Please,” she said in Spanish, “I can explain everything, but I speak very little English.”

Nancy nodded. “That’s all right,” she said, also in Spanish. “I know your language, so go ahead and explain. I’m listening.”

Maria breathed a sigh of relief and began to talk.