“If you ask me,” said George, “I think we’d have a lot better chance of finding Sally and Will if Nancy handles this herself.”
Peter Thornton turned to Nancy and laughed. “You? You’re just a teenage girl.”
Bess walked up to him and rose to her full height of five feet four inches. Even so, Thornton towered over her. But Bess would not back down.
“You obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Bess said in her most adult voice. “Nancy Drew happens to be one of the most famous detectives in this country. She’s solved dozens of crimes.”
“It’s true,” George chimed in. “And we should know because we helped her. If you want proof, you can go over to Danner and Bishop’s department store right down the street and talk to the owner, Carlin Fitzhugh. Nancy saved his store from disaster!”
George was referring to the case called The Joker’s Revenge, when the girls had captured a mysterious “prankster” who had been trying to steal the store’s furs and jewels.
Ellingsen looked from Nancy to Bess to George. Then she shrugged. “Tell you what. I’m going to call the police. But you can go ahead and do . . . whatever it is you detectives do.”
“Thanks,” said Nancy. “And I know exactly where to start.”
Nancy headed straight for Will’s bed. Pinned to the center of the bedspread, just as before, was a note. Nancy unpinned the note and read it aloud:
Now there are two on the dark side. Soon the lights will go out for good as Will and Sally go down in history. And I mean down.
Denise Ellingsen shuddered. “That sounds even worse than the last note.”
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand about either note,” Nancy said. “Whoever wrote them didn’t ask for a ransom. That scares me even more because it sounds as if the person doesn’t want money. The kidnapper just wants to hurt Sally and Will.”
“Or worse,” George said.
“There goes my fifteen percent,” said Thornton.
Nancy knew Thornton was referring to the commission he made for being Will Leonard’s manager. Thornton helped Will get parts on TV. In exchange he got to keep fifteen percent of whatever Will earned.
“Is money the only thing you’re worried about?” Ellingsen said accusingly. “What about Will and Sally? Their lives may be in danger. I wouldn’t be surprised if you arranged this kidnapping yourself.”
“Me? I’m too disorganized to pull this off. You’re the one who’s so good at arranging things.”
“I was on the plane when this whole thing happened,” said Ellingsen.
“So was I,” said Thornton.
“Then who did it?” Denise Ellingsen asked.
Nancy studied the two managers closely while they argued. It was possible that one of them could have done it. Either Ellingsen or Thornton could have set the whole thing up in advance, using an accomplice in Chicago. Traveling together would give them both a perfect alibi.
But what would either one of them gain if Sally and Will disappeared? They both depended on their stars for their incomes. No, Thornton and Ellingsen wouldn’t have kidnapped the stars—unless they had a reason that was more important than money.
While Thornton and Ellingsen continued to argue, Nancy started to pick up clothes off the floor and place them on the bed. Will’s clothes were much more casual than Sally’s—lots of T-shirts and jeans and a leather jacket. It felt strange to be so close to the lives of two TV stars, to know exactly what they wore, without really knowing them at all.
Nancy looked back at Ellingsen and Thornton. The two managers were still arguing.
“Maybe Will’s not paying you enough,” Ellingsen was saying. “I know about all those debts you ran up buying expensive sports cars, designer clothes, that mansion in Bel-Air. I bet we’ll see a ransom note from you real soon!”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thornton yelled, “so why don’t you keep your mouth shut?”
Nancy was beginning to get a headache from all the shouting. “Let’s get out of here,” she said to her friends.
Nancy, Bess, and George shut the door to Room 1203 behind them. They could still hear the yelling through the door. The managers were so busy arguing they hadn’t even noticed the girls leaving.
“I think it’s time to check out Eileen Braddock,” Nancy said as they took the elevator back down to the lobby. “We still don’t know what the connection is between her and Sally Belmont.”
The elevator doors opened and Nancy led her friends across the lobby to a little alcove. In the alcove was a mahogany table with a courtesy phone.
“What are you going to do?” asked George. “Are you going to call Eileen Braddock?”
“Not exactly,” said Nancy. “You’re going to call her.”
“Me?” George exclaimed. “I couldn’t do that!”
“Why not?” Nancy asked.
“Well . . . she’s famous! She’s not going to want to talk to me.”
“She might—if you say the right thing,” Nancy said. “Tell her how you’ve read every single one of her books. She’ll love that. Ask if you can meet her, and ask if you can bring a friend.”
“All right. I’ll give it a try,” George said, picking up the receiver. The hotel operator connected George to Eileen Braddock’s room. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” George said as she waited for Eileen Braddock to answer the phone. Suddenly her eyes popped wide open.
“Uh . . . yes . . .” she said hoarsely. “You’re Eileen Braddock! I know your voice because I heard you on a talk show once. That was when you were promoting The Raven’s Eye. I just loved that book, especially the part where the woman knows the guy in the painting is watching her because the eyes move . . .”
George finally paused to listen.
Bess laughed. “She’s even more nervous than I was when I met Will Leonard.”
