She started as Terry entered the room. “Amy’s asleep,” he said. He rubbed his eyes and went to stand by one of the living room windows. “Quite a night, huh?”
“More excitement than even I like,” Nancy admitted. “I’m so glad Amy’s safe. She’s a brave girl, and she’s totally determined to protect you.”
“I wish I was doing a better job of protecting her,” Terry said. He held out a folded slip of paper. “I found this in the pocket of Amy’s jacket.”
Nancy unfolded the paper. Printed in block letters was a message that read, “Kirkland, get rid of Nancy Drew, or next time Amy takes a ride with Mr. D.”
There were two initials scrawled below the message in a script that Nancy couldn’t decipher. “Mr. D?” she asked. “Do you know a Mr. D?”
“Oh, I know Mr. D, all right,” Terry said with a soft, mirthless laugh. “I met him for the first time in Vietnam. All the soldiers used to talk about him as if he were a companion. And he was, you know. We were in the middle of a war. Mr. D seemed to be everywhere we turned.” Terry’s eyes were filled with pain. “Mr. D was our nickname for death.”
13
A Hidden Threat
Nancy examined the note in her hand and knew what she had to tell Terry. “I’ll drop the case,” she said. “Nothing’s worth putting Amy at that kind of risk.”
“You know,” Terry said, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, “I keep thinking that crazy war is over. And every time I do, something new surfaces.”
“Tomorrow Bess and George and I will move to a bed and breakfast,” Nancy went on. “Maybe then this guy will be satisfied and leave you alone.”
“That’s not necessary,” Terry said absently.
Nancy looked at the note again. Her mind was made up. She, Bess, and George would move out tomorrow. She’d give up the case. Still, she had to ask. “Terry, can you make out these initials?”
He glanced at the note. “N.F.” he read.
“N.F.?” Nancy felt the excitement over a new clue race through her. “Those are Nick’s initials!”
“That’s right.” Terry didn’t sound nearly as excited as she did.
“Don’t you see?” Nancy said. “Nick may not match the description of the man in the red car, but if he wrote the note, then maybe he’s working with him.”
“Nick didn’t write that note.”
“How can you be so sure?” Nancy asked.
“Because Nick was the one guy over there who never used the term Mr. D. He always talked about death as the Pilot.” Terry shrugged. “I don’t know why.
“Nick isn’t the kidnapper,” he went on. “Someone wanted me to think he was, and they made a mistake.” He glanced at her and smiled. “I’m glad, if you want to know the truth. Nick and I were friends. I mean, could you imagine having a kid of your own and then having Bess kidnap her?”
Nancy smiled at the idea. “Not exactly, but Bess has never been the kidnapping type.”
“Neither was Nick—at least, I didn’t think so then.”
“So that means someone else has been sabotaging you,” Nancy said softly.
“Someone else who was in Vietnam,” Terry finished the thought.
“And someone who wants to frame Nick,” Nancy added.
“The problem is, that doesn’t narrow things down much. There were a lot of us.” He turned from the window. “Let me sleep on this. In the meantime”—he nodded toward the note—“let’s just say I’m tired of being threatened. The three of you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
That night, as Nancy lay in bed, her eyes were drawn to the full moon shining through the stained-glass window. Forget-me-nots, she thought drowsily. The name of the flower played in her mind, as if it were a message. Her mind flashed on an image of the smashed glasswork and Nick Finney’s dog tags. Maybe Nick didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping. But she couldn’t help wondering if he was still alive.
• • •
“But I want to go to the park,” Amy was saying as Nancy entered the kitchen the next morning. “I feel totally fine,” she told her father. “Honest.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Terry said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that Detective Brower called half an hour ago and asked me to bring you by the station.”
“It won’t do any good,” Amy said quietly. “I’m not going to tell him anything.”
Terry rinsed out his coffee mug. “If you won’t tell us what happened, you’re doing exactly what that man wants you to do. Don’t you see that you’re helping him?”
Amy folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window.
“Good morning,” Nancy said.
“Morning,” Terry replied, giving her a thoughtful glance. “All right,” he said to Amy. “If you won’t talk to me or the police, what about talking to Nancy?”
“I can’t,” Amy said.
Nancy put a slice of bread in the toaster. “Even if we keep it just between the two of us?”
Amy got up, turned her back on them, and headed out of the kitchen.
“Amy!” Terry’s voice was unusually sharp.
