“I freelance for lots of directors,” Vinnie explained. He glanced around the table. “Most of us do. A producer like Carlo can’t keep a bunch of techies on staff when he isn’t filming.”
“You must really get to know the business, working for different people all the time,” Nancy said.
“Believe it,” Vinnie replied. “It’s a crazy racket, doing commercials. Like a roller coaster. Take Paul Norman—he was fit to be tied when Carlo got that cereal gig instead of him. But a few days later, he started getting more work than he can handle. Meanwhile, poor Carlo is stuck with a jinxed project. I hope it works out okay, though. Carlo’s a nice guy, as well as a terrific director.”
So much for Paul Norman’s motive for disrupting Carlo’s work, Nancy thought. “I was surprised to see Gayle taking Cindy’s place this evening,” she said casually. “Isn’t that unusual?”
“You bet it is,” Vinnie replied. “Right now, it’s a break for Gayle, looking so much like Cindy. But in the long run, it may hurt her more than help her. Once Cindy’s back, who’d want to hire an imitation when they can get the original?”
Just then the waitress arrived with plates of ribs, a platter heaped with french fries, and a thick stack of paper napkins. Bess’s eyes were gleaming. They all helped themselves to fries and started on the ribs. Dripping with sauce, the ribs tasted fantastic, but they were unbelievably messy.
After a few bites, Nancy turned back to Vinnie. “Say, do you know that guy Miklos? The one who used to be Carlo’s assistant?” she asked.
Vinnie took a sip of his soda, then said, “Yeah, but I don’t really know him. What I’ve seen, I don’t much like, I have to say. But I sort of feel sorry for him, seeing him hanging around the Film Center like a lost dog. I guess until he finds another gig, he doesn’t have any place to go.”
Before Nancy could ask any more, the band—two guitarists, a bass player, and drummer—finished tuning up onstage. Over the PA system, a deep voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big Chicago welcome for Spoonful of Blues!”
While the audience clapped and cheered, the band launched into what seemed to be its signature number, an old blues tune called “Spoonful.” The table began to vibrate in time to the bass. Nancy decided to sit back and enjoy the music. Trying to talk to anyone was obviously out of the question.
The music was great, but Nancy felt herself fading by the end of the first set. She looked over and saw Bess give a huge yawn. It had been a long day for them both. They said goodbye to everybody and escaped outside into the quiet night.
As they drove north on Lake Shore Drive, Nancy told Bess what Vinnie had said about Paul Norman’s recent hot streak. “Looking at it that way,” she summed up, “Norman doesn’t have much of a motive to sabotage Carlo.” Bess agreed, with another yawn.
Nancy turned in at the garage entrance to Ann Bowers’s apartment building. Digging the key card out of her purse, she slid it into the slot on a post outside the barrier. The steel door rolled upward, and she drove through into the gloomy garage. Most of the spaces were full. She followed the arrows to the guest slots and parked.
“What a day!” she said to Bess, as they walked across the concrete toward the elevator. “I hope we—”
Just then an engine roared behind them. Tires squealed. Nancy spun around.
Two blinding headlights were coming straight at them—at breakneck speed!
14
The Puzzle Falls Together
“Jump!” Nancy shouted, as the car barreled down on them. She flung herself to the right and ducked behind a concrete pillar, then peered around. Bess had leapt to the other side of the aisle and was crouching behind the fender of a parked car.
The speeding car screeched to a stop, just a dozen feet away. Nancy could tell that the car was a medium-size dark sedan, but she was too far back—and the headlights were too bright—to see the person behind the wheel.
The car lurched into reverse and backed toward the entrance at top speed, gears whining loudly. Nancy ran out into the aisle and shaded her eyes, trying to see past the glaring headlights. At the far end of the garage, the dark car swerved and sped toward the exit.
“We must be getting pretty close to someone,” Bess observed shakily, joining Nancy.
“Someone who knew when we’d be getting here,” Nancy mused. “And someone who has a key card.”
“Which means it’s probably the same person who trashed Ms. Bowers’s car,” Bess said. “But who?”
Nancy smiled grimly. “That’s for him or her to know and us to find out,” she said.
Upstairs, the lights in the apartment were turned low. Ann Bowers had apparently gone to bed, and so had Gayle.
As they passed Cindy’s room, Nancy noticed with surprise that the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and scanned the room. Everything looked as it had that morning. A draft must have blown the door open, she mused. But she wasn’t convinced.
• • •
As soon as Nancy got up the next morning, she called Carlo at his studio to get Miklos’s full name, address, and phone number. She also asked Carlo for the name and number of the fire marshal who’d investigated the fire the day before. When she dialed the marshal’s number, a machine answered. She gave her name and number, then explained briefly about Erik’s possible connection to the shopping bag. Now it would be up to the fire marshal to decide how to use the information.
While Bess showered, Nancy dressed and went to the kitchen to put water on for tea. Ms. Bowers was sitting at the counter with a coffee cup. Crusts of whole wheat toast lay on a small plate in front of her. She looked as if she hadn’t slept well.
“Before she left this morning, Gayle told me what happened at the studio last night,” Ms. Bowers said. “How much longer can this go on? Cindy’s been gone forty-eight hours now, and every hour brings new incidents. My nerves are just about shattered.”
Nancy decided not to tell her what had happened to her and Bess in the garage late last night—it would only upset the woman even more. “We could call in the police,” Nancy suggested.
Ms. Bowers squirmed uneasily. “Soon, perhaps—but not yet,” she said, dodging the question.
“It’s odd that we haven’t heard from the kidnappers again,” Nancy said casually. “That could be good, you know. If the kidnap call was just a hoax, there’s still a chance that Cindy is unharmed.”
“I hope so,” Ms. Bowers said wearily.
“Ms. Bowers,” Nancy went on, “do you think a company like Amalgamated Mills might hire someone to wreck a competitor’s ad campaign?”
Ms. Bowers snorted. “Who suggested that—Sherman Pike?” she said. “He’s read too many spy novels. Amalgamated would love to see Healthibits fall on its face, but they wouldn’t do anything illegal. It wouldn’t be worth the risk for them.” She stood up and took her plate and cup to the dishwasher. “I’d better go. I do still have a business to run.”
A few minutes later Bess appeared, with a towel around her head and a puzzled look on her face. “That’s funny,” she said. “I decided I’d like to have some Healthibits for breakfast, so I went to Cindy’s room to get the sample box. But it was gone.”
“It must be really good stuff,” Nancy commented. “People can’t seem to resist it. The box that Sherman Pike brought to the studio last night vanished, too.”
Then she paused, wondering. Why had two boxes of Healthibits vanished—one from Carlo’s studio and the other from Cindy’s bedroom? Was it just a coincidence, or did it mean something?
