Choosing Sides (8 page)

“No, no, no!” Anna replied coyly. “That will have to wait. You see, I, too, am a writer.” She pointed to the typewriter set up in the corner of the room. “I began working on a nonfiction book while I was in prison, and now I'm writing the final draft, with the help of a dear friend.”

Nancy wasn't sure what this might have to do with her case, but she decided to find out all she could. “Oh? And who is helping you?”

“He's Steve Hill, Caroline's ex-husband,” Anna said, her voice softening for the first time. “I wanted some information on his wife, and I asked him if he'd be willing to be interviewed.
We became friends, and our friendship has blossomed into a wonderful romance.”

So maybe Dimitros and Steve Hill
were
working together, Nancy thought.

“That's so cool!” Bess breathed. “And you're a real writer! Would you mind showing me around? I'd love to see how a writer lives.”

Nancy flashed Bess a congratulatory smile as Anna stood up. Now Nancy had a chance to look at Anna's notes by the typewriter. “Um, if you don't mind, I'll stay here. I want to write down all you've told us before I forget.”

Nancy took out her notebook, but she put it aside as soon as Anna led Bess out of the living room. Nancy hurried over to the typewriter and shuffled through the notes stacked on and around it.

“Hmm, what's this?” Nancy murmured, thumbing through a stack of notecards. She paused at one card. It was a list of names and phone numbers. Next to some of them, Anna had written the word “interviewed” and a date. Steve Hill had been interviewed a few months earlier, Nancy noted as she ran her finger down the list.

Farther down, Nancy stopped again. Bobby Rouse was on the list! Anna had talked to him just one month earlier. So there
was
a connection between Rouse and Anna Dimitros. Hearing Anna's voice drifting toward the living room, Nancy quickly returned the card to the stack. She
rushed back to the couch just a second before Anna and Bess reentered the room.

“Gosh, Bess, it's after two-thirty!” Nancy exclaimed, jumping up. “I just realized that we're late for our next interview.” She put out her hand for Anna to shake. “Thanks for being so generous with your time, Ms. Dimitros.”

Anna seemed disappointed that they were leaving so soon. “But I haven't had a chance to talk about my start in business,” she protested.

The girls promised to call again, then left. Back in the car, Nancy told Bess about the notecard listing Steve Hill and Bobby Rouse.

“Wow. So if Dimitros knew Rouse, she could have hired him to pose for the photograph,” Bess said as Nancy pulled out into traffic. “Maybe she even killed him!”

“We still don't know for sure,” Nancy said. “But maybe we'll find more evidence at Steve Hill's house.”

Bess shot Nancy a worried glance. “Nan, how are we going to get into his house without getting caught this time?”

“Ned told me that Mr. Hill is working in Patrick Gleason's campaign office all day,” Nancy explained. “Then he's going to the debate. We'll just have to be careful that none of the neighbors see us.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two girls were in Steve Hill's yard, checking his windows.

“Everything's locked up tight,” Nancy said, yanking on the back door of the house. “I'll have to pick the lock.”

After taking a narrow metal instrument from her shoulder bag, she inserted it into the keyhole. A few moments later, the lock clicked open.

“I keep expecting someone to jump out of the bushes,” Bess said nervously, glancing around. “Let's get inside fast.”

Nancy opened the door and stepped into a small room that held a washer and dryer. With Bess right behind her, she quietly walked through the laundry room and into the dimly lit kitchen.

Suddenly she cocked her head to one side. From far off in the house, she heard a faint scrabbling sound.

“What's that?” Bess asked behind her.

A split second later, a black Doberman came through the kitchen doorway. The dog let out a terrifying, deep-chested growl. Nancy's heart seemed to leap into her throat.

In the next instant, the Doberman ran straight at Bess and Nancy, his sharp white teeth bared.

“He's going to kill us!” Bess screamed.

N
ANCY FROZE
as the dog ran across the kitchen floor.

With the dog just a few feet away, Nancy forced herself to move. She whipped off her denim jacket and threw it at the dog, covering his head. Before the dog could shake the jacket off, she jumped forward to hold him still.

“Quick, Bess!” she said urgently. “Help me get him into the laundry room.”

Bess's eyes were wide with fear as she jumped behind the dog and pushed on his haunches, while Nancy pulled him through the doorway. The Doberman locked his legs and tried to buck out of their grasp, his furious snarls barely muffled by the jacket. When they got him just inside the laundry room, Nancy took her jacket, and she
and Bess jumped backward through the doorway, then slammed the door shut. A second later, they heard the dog jump at the door, barking with fury.

Bess shuddered. “I can't believe I just did that,” she breathed, leaning against the kitchen wall.

“Me, either,” Nancy replied as she sank into a chair at the round kitchen table. “I had no idea Mr. Hill had a dog.”

Bess took a few deep breaths. “I guess we'd better start looking around before a neighbor hears that barking and decides to call the cops!”

“Good idea,” Nancy said. “I'll search downstairs, and you check the bedrooms.”

• • •

“Find anything?” Bess asked a half hour later, joining Nancy in the den.

Nancy held up some press clippings she'd found on the desk. “Just these. They're articles about Caroline's run for mayor. But I haven't found anything linking Steve Hill to the frame-up.”

“I couldn't find anything, either,” Bess said, letting out a sigh of frustration. “I can't believe we've hit another dead end.”

Checking her watch, Nancy said, “Yikes, the debate's starting in just fifteen minutes! I'll drop you off there, then call Ned to make sure he's the only one at Gleason's office. We'd better get going.”

After leaving by the front door, the two girls drove across town to the River Heights cultural center, where the debate was being held. Bess went into the auditorium, while Nancy phoned Ned from the lobby.

“The coast is almost clear,” Ned told her over the phone. “The last person is about to leave—I convinced her that I could handle the phones so she could watch the debate. I'll be the only one here.”

“Great,” Nancy said. “I'll be right over.”

She hung up the phone and started for the door, walking past groups of River Heights residents who were arriving for the debate. She had only gone a few steps when she recognized a short, distinguished-looking man with graying blond hair standing by the auditorium doors. It was Alan Blount, Nancy realized, the man who had given Caroline the huge donation at her fundraiser Sunday night.

Nancy paused as Patrick Gleason, surrounded by a small group, entered the lobby. He smiled and waved at people he passed. When he got to the auditorium doorway, he reached out to shake hands with Alan Blount.

Don't bother trying to get Blount's support, Nancy thought. Then she saw Alan Blount lean toward Gleason and mutter under his breath, “Knock 'em dead, Pat!”

Nancy was stunned. What was Alan Blount doing encouraging Gleason, when he had donated
so much money to Caroline's campaign? Had the fencing ring scandal made him switch sides?

Nancy shook her head and hurried out the door. She didn't have time to think about that now.

It was ten minutes after four when she arrived at Patrick Gleason's headquarters, where Ned was alone. He gave her a big smile, but Nancy thought she saw a glint of unease in his eyes.

“How's the case going?” he asked.

Nancy quickly filled him in on her interview with Anna Dimitros and the search of Steve Hill's house. “We still don't have proof linking anyone to the frame-up, though. Or to Bobby Rouse's murder.”

“Well, let's get this over with.” With a quick look to the door, Ned led the way to Gleason's office. Nancy glanced at the messy desk, shelves, and filing cabinets, then spun through the Rolodex on the candidate's desk. She didn't see any number for Bobby Rouse or for the mysterious “Greenwood” she'd seen on the note in Rouse's car. There was no card for Anna Dimitros or Steve Hill, either.

“I don't like lying, you know,” Ned grumbled, yanking open a file drawer.

Nancy looked up at Ned in surprise. “Ned, what are you talking about?”

Ned pulled out a stack of files and leafed through them. “After you left here today, Steve
Hill told Gleason that you were snooping around for Caroline Hill, and about you and Kyle trying to break into his house. Then Gleason came to me and asked me what exactly you were up to, and if I was working for you. I told him that I backed him one hundred percent and that you and I kept your detective work out of our relationship.”

Ned had kept his eyes focused on the files while he spoke. Then he jammed the files back in the drawer and pulled out another stack.

“I'm sorry about putting you in the middle of this, Ned, but it's important to get at the truth. Did Gleason seem nervous, like he might be afraid of what I'd find out?”

“You don't let up, do you!” Ned burst out, slamming the file drawer shut. “Patrick Gleason trusted me enough to leave me here alone today, and look what I'm doing—ransacking his private office, looking for evidence to use against him!”

Nancy wished she could get him to understand. “Ned, you're helping to find out who Rouse's killer is and who framed Caroline Hill. Gleason is a suspect, and the sooner we can investigate him the sooner he'll be cleared.” If he's innocent, she added to herself. She knelt down to look in the bottom drawer.

“And in the meantime, it doesn't matter to you if Gleason finds out I've been spying on him and loses all respect for me,” Ned said quietly.

Sitting back on her heels, Nancy looked up at
her boyfriend. “Oh, Ned, I'm so sorry,” she apologized. “I wasn't thinking about that.”

“Look, I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have blown up at you,” Ned said. “I know you have to investigate. It's just that I hate feeling like such a sneak.”

Nancy got to her feet and gave him a quick hug. She was about to tell him that she understood, when her gaze landed on Gleason's typewriter.

“Hey, what's this?” She bent over a paper that was in the typewriter on a stand by the desk. It was a letter that Patrick Gleason was writing to
Today's Times,
criticizing them for printing the story about Caroline Hill.

“ ‘Every American deserves a fair chance,' ” Ned read out loud over Nancy's shoulder.” ‘And Caroline Hill hasn't been getting that, thanks to your story. I firmly believe that I am the best candidate for mayor, but I also believe that I should be given the chance to beat my opponent fair and square.' ”

“What do you think of that?” Ned challenged.

Nancy nodded. “It's a good letter. Sounds sincere.” She didn't add that Patrick Gleason might have written the letter just to throw suspicion off himself. She didn't want to start another fight with Ned. Then again, maybe Ned was right. They certainly hadn't found anything suspicious about Gleason so far.

Deep in thought, Nancy was tugging on a
stubborn desk drawer when suddenly the whole drawer popped out, and papers and pencils flew everywhere.

“Good work, Drew,” Nancy scolded herself.

Ned started to laugh, then suddenly froze. “Shh! Someone's unlocking the outside door!”

Nancy heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. She looked at Ned in shock. How were they going to explain what they were doing in there—especially with half of Gleason's desk spilled all over the floor!

Ned quietly pushed the office door closed. A split second later, Nancy heard the front door swing open and heavy footsteps on the floor. The footsteps were getting closer.

Nancy looked at Ned and gulped. They were about to get caught red-handed!