Nancy decided to keep her story simple. “My friend received a box of Gold Flag chocolates in the mail the other day,” she began. “But the card was missing and he’s terribly embarrassed. He doesn’t know whom to thank.”
The woman shrugged. “We don’t keep records on customers,” she said. “There’s no way to check something like that.”
Nancy glanced over at Bess, who was eyeing the candy on display. But just as she was about to leave, an idea flashed into her mind. “Would you happen to know Hillary Lane?” Nancy asked.
“Of course,” the saleswoman replied. “Everyone in town knows Hillary Lane. She’s a regular customer here.”
“Would you know if she sent a box of Gold Flag chocolates to a Mr. Nelson Stone recently?”
“Well,” the woman said, “Gold Flag is a favorite of Miss Lane’s. But I haven’t a clue as to whom she gives them. We don’t mail packages for our customers.”
“Thanks anyway for your help,” Nancy said as she and Bess left the shop. If Hillary had bought the chocolates and then sent them to Stone herself, it could be pretty difficult to prove.
Soon Nancy and Bess were heading toward Miss Rubie’s Chocolate Shoppe in downtown Clinton Park.
“You realize,” Bess said as they neared the shop, “that I’m doomed as soon as I walk into Miss Rubie’s. I can’t resist her homemade fudge.”
“We’ll get you some,” Nancy promised.
When they entered the old-fashioned candy shop, which was decorated to look like the inside of a log cabin, Miss Rubie gave Bess a warm welcome. “Why, Bess Marvin! You must have smelled my homemade fudge all the way from River Heights,” the plump proprietress said. “I just made a fresh batch this morning.”
Nancy laughed. “Bess has a sixth sense for things like that.”
Bess flashed Nancy a sheepish grin, then purchased a small box of fudge. “I’m only doing this to help you,” she whispered to Nancy. Then, turning to Miss Rubie, Bess asked, “Do you still mail out gifts for your customers?”
“Of course,” Miss Rubie replied. “I mail gifts all over the country.”
“Actually,” Bess said, “we were wondering about something. By any chance, did you send a package recently to a Mr. Nelson Stone here in Clinton Park?”
“I’ll have to check my records,” Miss Rubie said, putting on her glasses. “My memory’s not as good as it used to be.” She reached into a drawer behind the counter and pulled out a small box filled with postal receipts.
Nancy flashed Bess a hopeful look as Miss Rubie thumbed through the stack of papers. “This is it,” she said finally. “A box of Gold Flag was sent to Mr. Stone last Friday.” Miss Rubie passed the postal slip over to Nancy. “Here, take a look.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, Nancy thought. All she needed now was to find out who had made the purchase.
“But this doesn’t say who sent it,” Nancy said, disappointed. She handed the postal slip to Bess.
“It’s important that we find out who sent the package,” Bess explained to Miss Rubie.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know that,” the plump woman said. “I don’t even put customers’ names on sales slips.”
Nancy wasn’t about to give up. “What about credit card receipts?” she asked. “Names always appear on them.”
Miss Rubie searched through another box. “Well, these are the only credit card charges I had last week.” She handed Nancy a small pile of yellow slips.
The girls looked through them quickly.
“Hey, check this out,” Bess said suddenly. “Nelson Stone charged a box of Gold Flag last Thursday.”
“That’s weird,” Nancy said, frowning. “Could Stone have sent himself the box of chocolates?”
“Oh, now I remember,” Miss Rubie said, leaning over the counter. “A short man, well dressed . . . very precise, as I recall.”
Bess flashed Nancy a knowing look.
“That’s him,” Nancy said.
After thanking Miss Rubie for her help, the girls left the candy shop and got into Nancy’s car.
“I just don’t understand it,” Bess said as Nancy pulled out of the parking lot. “Why would Nelson Stone send the chocolates to his house? He must have poisoned them himself.”
Nancy turned onto the main highway. “It looks as if he rigged the whole thing,” she said grimly. “He’s been setting it up to look as if someone’s out to kill him. What I want to know is, why?”
Bess undid the ribbon on her box of fudge. “So then Stone must have sent himself the threatening letter, too.”
“And cut his own brake pipe,” Nancy added as Bess offered her some fudge. “That means he probably used the hacksaw after all.” She bit into a piece of fudge and chewed it thoughtfully.
“Nancy!” Bess cried. “Stone must be the one who locked you in the shed. That’s terrible!”
“It sure is,” Nancy agreed. “But we can’t prove anything yet. I want to take another look at that threatening letter he supposedly received. Feel like driving over to the Clinton Park police station?” she asked.
“Sure,” Bess said, taking another piece of fudge.
A few minutes later Nancy left Bess on the steps of the police station. “I hope you don’t mind waiting,” she told her friend. “It might be better if I spoke to Lieutenant Higgins alone.”
“No problem,” Bess said.
Nancy entered the building, hoping the lieutenant was in. “May I speak to Lieutenant Higgins, please?” she asked the bald-headed sergeant at the front desk.
