Carolyn Keene - Hit and Run Holiday

“What about the car?” Nancy asked. “Do you think you’ll find it?”

“There’s not much to go on,” the officer replied frankly. “But we’ll give it our best shot.”

“Okay,” said Nancy. She climbed into the back of the ambulance and settled herself next to Kim. The medic closed the doors, and the ambulance pulled away, its siren going full blast.

Nancy thought about what the officer had meant—that if the car ever did turn up, it would probably be weeks later, in a junkyard somewhere. If they were lucky.

But Nancy wasn’t going to put her trust in luck. She might return to River Heights with her skin as winter-pale as when she left, but she was going to find out why her friend was deliberately run over on a bright, sunny day in the middle of paradise.

It was two o’clock by the time Nancy left the hospital. Kim was still unconscious, but the doctors were almost certain she’d be okay—the worst they could find were a bad concussion and a broken wrist. Nancy had called Kim’s mother, and Mrs. Baylor had said she’d be down later that afternoon if she had to hijack a plane to get there.

As Nancy walked down the street, she suddenly realized she was famished. She bought a hot dog from a stand on a street corner and wolfed it down while she headed toward Kim’s hotel. What she really wanted to do was jump in the ocean and swim until her nerves stopped jangling. But she couldn’t relax, not then. There was too much to find out. What kind of dangerous business had Kim gotten mixed up in? Why had the lock on her door been broken? Who was Ricardo? Who was Rosita?

Nancy knew that Kim’s room just might hold some of the answers to those questions, so she tried to ignore the gorgeous beach only yards away from her. She also tried to ignore the gorgeous boys around her, but it wasn’t easy.

“Hey,” one of them said, “you look frazzled. I just happen to know a nice, secluded little spot half a mile down the beach . . .”

“Hey, you’re going to look like a cooked lobster soon if you’re not careful,” another one told her. “I’ll be glad to rub in your suntan lotion personally!”

Nancy turned them down, but even though she was worried about Kim, she couldn’t help smiling. Bess must be in absolute heaven, she thought. She glanced over at the crowded beach and realized that Bess and George didn’t even know about Kim yet. I’ll tell them later, she thought. First I’ve got to get a look at that hotel room. Remembering the broken lock, she figured it wouldn’t be too hard.

Nancy bounded up the stairs again instead of waiting for the elevator. Quietly she pushed open the door and stepped into the hall. Good. It was empty.

Nancy kept her ringers crossed that it would stay that way. The last thing she wanted was to be seen nosing around Kim’s room. She didn’t have any idea yet whom she was up against, and until she found out, she couldn’t trust a soul.

When Nancy reached room 207, she checked to make sure she was still alone, then put her hand on the doorknob, expecting it to turn easily.

The knob didn’t turn at all. The door was locked.

Great, Nancy thought, just what I don’t need—an efficient hotel. She didn’t have her credit cards with her, so she couldn’t force the lock that way. She rummaged through her beach bag, trying to find something thin and made out of metal.

No luck. The only hardware she had was the small hook in the top of her extra bikini.

Well, why not? she thought. It took five minutes, but finally Nancy had the metal hook free of the cloth. She spent another minute unbending it, and at last she held a thin metal probe about as long as her little finger. If this works, she told herself, you will have set some sort of record for ingenuity.

Grinning, Nancy gently slid the “pick” into the keyhole.

Suddenly the knob turned, and the door started to open. Nancy was about to congratulate herself when she realized that she didn’t have anything to do with it. Someone—who probably didn’t belong there—was inside Kim’s room. And Nancy and the intruder were about to come face-to-face.

Chapter Three

Quickly Nancy dropped her pick into her beach bag, stepped away from the door, and put on a confused expression, as if she were having trouble finding her room.

The door opened a little more, and a young man stuck his head out. In his left hand he held a very long pointed screwdriver. When he saw Nancy, his jaw hardened and his blue eyes turned icy. Nancy considered asking him what he was doing in the room, but his look stopped her. He might be involved in Kim’s “accident,” and if he was, Nancy didn’t want him suspicious of her.

“Oh, hi!” she said casually. “Can you tell me where room three-twelve is?”

Opening the door just wide enough to let himself out, the guy gave Nancy a long, cold look, then finally raised his chin and glanced at the ceiling.

Nancy looked up too, pretending she didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her. She noticed that he was wearing dark green pants and a matching shirt, the kind of uniform maintenance people wear. He must work for the hotel, Nancy thought, which was why he’d been in Kim’s room. He’d probably just fixed the lock.

“Oh!” she said, as if the light had finally dawned on her. “Pm on the wrong floor, huh?”

Nodding briefly, the guy pulled the door shut behind him, and then stood there, obviously waiting for her to leave.

Nancy heard the lock click and was glad she’d been prepared. Smiling brightly, she said, “No wonder I couldn’t find three-twelve! Thanks!”

“Mr. Friendly” glared at her again and finally headed for the stairs, so Nancy stood in front of the elevator, pretending to push the button. When she heard the last echo of his footsteps, she rushed back to room 207, fished out her pick, and went to work.

In just a couple of minutes, Nancy was inside Kim’s room.

It was a total disaster. Clothes were everywhere—hanging out of drawers, strewn across the floor, even spilling from the wastepaper basket. Postcards, paperbacks, makeup, and skin lotion were ripped, scattered, or overturned. The sheets were on the floor, and the mattress was half off the bed.

It was not the mess made by someone who was having too good a vacation to bother picking things up. It wasn’t even the mess made by a slob, Nancy thought. It was the kind of mess made by somebody who was looking for something.

Nancy didn’t have to wonder who had searched the room. It must have been handsome “Mr. Friendly,” the stone-faced maintenance man. No wonder he’d given her such a dirty look when he found her lurking outside the room. Obviously he didn’t work for the hotel, but just who did he work for? Ricardo? Rosita?

For a moment, Nancy was tempted to go after him, but then she decided it would be a waste of time. People who trashed hotel rooms didn’t wait around to answer questions. Mr. Friendly was long gone. She hoped.

The thing to do was figure out what he’d been looking for.

Afraid that somebody might be watching the hotel room, Nancy left the shades down and the lights off. The fluorescent bulb in the bathroom was enough to see by. Not even sure where to begin, she started wading through the piles of clothes and paperbacks on the floor. A piece of newspaper caught in her sandal, as she picked it up she noticed the headline of a story about illegal aliens.

The story had been circled in red ink, and Nancy figured Kim had done it. Kim was like that—always interested in the underdog. If I keep my eyes peeled, Nancy thought with a smile, I’ll probably find a letter she wrote to the editor, saying what a rotten situation the illegals are in

But Nancy wasn’t getting anywhere. She tossed the paper toward the wastebasket and headed for the bathroom. Medicine cabinets were such obvious hiding places, maybe Mr. Friendly hadn’t bothered to look there.