Chapter 17 The Mystery at Lilac Inn by Carolyn Keene
The Net Tightens
Helen eagerly agreed to go with Nancy to call on Lillie Merriweather, the actress. “It would be fun even if there weren’t a mystery,” she said.
A little later Lieutenant Brice arrived at the inn with another trooper. In Dick’s office Nancy told him about Gay’s letter and the spot near which she had found it.
“We’ll keep watch,” the officer promised. He took the other trooper aside and whispered instructions. The man nodded and left.
Lieutenant Brice then told Nancy and her friends that no clues had been discovered to the person who had placed the time bomb.
“There was an unusual silencer on it, however,” he said. “That’s why you didn’t hear the ticking, Nancy, until a short time before the bomb was due to explode.”
The officer also said that besides the red panel truck, several other cars in the area had been stolen. “Some of the vehicles have been recovered, but there’s still no sign of the red truck. We’ll keep looking,” the lieutenant promised as he left.
Sunday morning Nancy and Helen were up early for church and their trip to Bridgeton. After breakfast the girls went to the parking lot. To their astonishment, Nancy’s convertible was not there!
“Good night!” Nancy exclaimed. Rapidly she searched her handbag for the key. It was not there. “I must have left the key in the ignition!” she chided herself.
Helen groaned. “Your car probably was stolen by one of those thieves!”
Just then, John McBride drove into the lot in his jeep. “Hi!” he greeted the girls. “Why so glum?”
When Nancy told about her missing car, John suggested that he and the girls go off in his jeep and search the grounds before reporting the loss.
“Your car may only have been hidden by a prankster,” he suggested. “This is the day for car trouble,” he added. “I just fixed a flat tire.”
Twenty minutes later the group spotted Nancy’s convertible near a cornfield across the lane from the orchard. They examined the vehicle, and found it intact. The key was in the lock.
“Whoever took it had a short trip,” John commented.
Nancy wondered whether the unknown driver had only played a prank. If so, why? To discourage her from going to Bridgeton? Or had the person planned to steal the car but been scared off?
The girls stepped into the convertible and told John their destination. “Lots of luck,” he said.
The drive to Bridgeton took about an hour and a half. Nancy and Helen arrived in time to attend services in the quaint, white, eighteenth-century church. Then they had lunch at a tearoom.
“Where do we look for Miss Merriweather?” asked Helen as they paid their check. “The theater’s closed today.”
Nancy asked the tearoom manager where the summer stock people were living.
“At the Montrose Hotel, two blocks down.”
Ten minutes later the girls walked into the small hotel. They learned from the desk clerk that the actress and her father had Suite 303.
As Nancy and Helen rode up in the elevator, they reviewed a plan they had worked out earlier. To avoid rousing suspicion, Nancy would pretend to be an actress named Dru Gruen. She would further pretend that she knew Gay but had lost contact. Helen was to pose as a dancer.
As the young sleuth knocked on the door of Suite 303, she was filled with anticipation. Would the visit yield the answer to the mystery, or would it prove to be only a false lead?
The door was opened by a tall, slim young woman, with silver-blond hair. She wore a becoming dress of jade-green silk.
“Yes?” she asked in a throaty voice.
Nancy smiled. “Miss Merriweather? I’m Dru Gruen, an actress, and this is my friend Helga Marsh, a dancer. I understand you know Gay. We’re trying to locate her.”
The actress looked startled. “Gay Moreau?”
“Yes,” Nancy replied without hesitation.
Miss Merriweather invited her callers into an attractive living room. A fine-looking elderly man arose from a chair as they entered.
“Papa,” said the actress, “these young ladies are theater people—Miss Gruen and Miss Marsh. They’re looking for Gay.”
Mr. Merriweather, too, appeared startled. “We haven’t seen Gay in quite some time,” he said. “May I ask why you’re trying to find her?”
“We thought we’d like to have a little reunion,” Nancy explained. “We haven’t seen Gay recently, and don’t know her present address.”
“We don’t know where she’s living, either,” Lillie put in. “I haven’t heard from Gay since the last time I saw her.”
“When was that?” Nancy asked.
“Shortly after she was released from prison.”
Nancy and Helen were amazed to hear this. But they managed to conceal it.
“I imagine,” Nancy said carefully, “that Gay’s been having a hard time.”
Lillie and her father agreed. “Very sad.” Mr. Merriweather sighed. “Gay had talent. But a five-year sentence for check forgery doesn’t help one’s career.”
“I can’t understand why she did it,” Nancy said.
“Probably because Gay was poor most of her life,” Lillie reminisced. “Once success came her way, she spent all her earnings on luxuries. But Gay couldn’t stop buying expensive things. I guess she figured forgery was the easiest way to get more money.”
Mr. Merriweather frowned. “What bothered me was that Gay swore revenge on the person who was instrumental in having her sent to prison.”
“The one whose signature she forged?” Helen asked.
“She didn’t mention the name,” replied Lillie’s father.
“How old is Gay now?” Nancy inquired.
“About twenty-seven,” Lillie answered.
“I wonder,” Nancy pursued, “if she still likes ‘blue pipes’?”
“Oh! Gay must’ve told you that means lilacs!” Lillie exclaimed. “She certainly was crazy about them—even wore lilac colors.”
“Say!” Mr. Merriweather exclaimed. “I wonder if Gay sent me the pipe made of lilac wood I received yesterday. There was no return address on the package, and the postmark was blurred—must’ve gotten wet.”
When he showed the pipe to Nancy, she could scarcely hide her excitement. The pipe looked exactly like Mr. Daly’s! But she asked Lillie in an offhand way if Gay had ever spoken of Lilac Inn.
“Why, yes,” the actress replied. “If you mean the old place in Benton that Gay said she visited as a child, when the inn was owned by a relative of hers—someone who’d lived in the West Indies.”
“He was a Spaniard, I believe,” Nancy put in, “named Ron Carioca.”
“That sounds right,” Lillie said.
Mr. Merriweather spoke up, “You might find Gay in Benton. Maybe she went back for old times’ sake.”
“A good idea. We’ll look there,” Helen said.
Nancy sighed. “I suppose she’s changed quite a bit since—her imprisonment.”
Lillie shook her head. “Surprisingly, no. I’ll show you.” The actress went to a table and picked up a scrapbook of clippings. She thumbed through the pages and pointed out a recent magazine picture of an attractive model with golden hair. “This is Gay. Looks just like her.”
The young sleuth studied the picture. It struck her there was something familiar about Gay’s eyes.
The two girls thanked the Merriweathers and left. They got into the car and headed for Benton. Elatedly, Nancy and Helen discussed everything they had learned—Gay’s last name, the fact that she had been in prison, and her childhood association with Lilac Inn.
“Do you think she is your double, Nancy?” asked Helen. “There’s a resemblance. Besides, being an actress, Gay knows how to use make-up skillfully.”
“Yes. Also, the color of her hair is similar to mine,” Nancy added.
“But,” said Helen, “I can’t understand why Gay decided to impersonate you in the first place.”
“I’m inclined to think it had nothing to do with the mystery of Lilac Inn in the beginning,” Nancy replied. “She wanted clothes and jewelry, so took my charge plate. But later she decided to use the disguise to keep John and me from our skin-diving trip.”
“You mean Gay was at the inn?”
“Yes. Under an assumed name, of course.”
Helen grinned at the young sleuth. “And next you’re going to tell me who she was. Well, one person she couldn’t have been was Mary Mason. You saw her in Dockville, and said she’s heavier and older than you.”
Nancy pursed her lips. “I never checked the description of that Mary Mason with Emily. She may not have been the Mary who worked at the inn, but was in league with her, and was asked to pose as Mary Mason, waitress.”
Helen was amazed. “Nancy, you’re a whiz. Gay and Mary probably are the same person.”
“That’s what I suspect, Helen. First, we’ll check with Emily.”
When the girls reached the inn, they questioned Emily. “Now that I think of it, Nancy,” Emily said, “Mary Mason was about your height and weight, and her coloring’s like yours.”
“That settles it,” said the young sleuth. “I’m going to talk to Chief McGinnis immediately.” With her friends covering the extension phones, Nancy told him of her suspicions.
“You’ve certainly made great progress, Nancy,” he praised her. “I’ll ask the Dockville police to get a line on the Mary Mason you talked to there.”
“Thank you,” said Nancy, then she called her father. Hannah said that Mr. Drew had gone out to dinner with a client, so Nancy asked the housekeeper to give him a message.
“Of course. Have you solved the mystery?” Hannah inquired hopefully.
Nancy said not yet, but to tell her father that she had an important clue to her impersonator. “Ask him to call me at the inn, please.”
Hannah promised to do so, and said that she hoped to hear the whole story soon. At suppertime John was not present at the table. Helen asked nonchalantly where he was.
“John said he had an errand to do,” Dick replied.
When the meal was over, Nancy encountered Jean Holmes in the center hall. “If anyone should phone me, will you please call me,” she requested. “I’m going outside for a walk.”
“I’ll be glad to, Miss Drew,” said the waitress.
Actually Nancy wanted to find Carl Bard and ask the guard if he had seen anything suspicious or obtained any clue to her double. She met him coming toward the inn to supper.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied to her questions. “It’s been very quiet here.”
Nancy thanked him and walked off. She strolled through the grounds, thinking over the day’s events. Who had used her car? Had John any idea as to the driver’s identity? Was it the person responsible for the flipper tracks John had examined several days ago in the orchard?
Nancy continued toward the water reflectively, but did look back, wondering if by chance anyone might be following her. Suddenly she saw Jean Holmes emerge from the kitchen door of the inn. No one else was in sight.
“She’s probably looking for me,” Nancy thought. “Chief McGinnis or Dad must have phoned.”
Nancy expected Jean to call out her name, but she did not do so. The young sleuth was about to hail the girl when she noticed that Jean was carrying a small suitcase. She glanced furtively from left to right, then headed for the river. Some instinct caused Nancy to duck behind a large oak. Jean reached the water and turned right. Nancy stealthily followed the waitress.
The other girl walked on quickly until she reached the lilac grove. Then she slipped through an opening in the bushes.
Curious, Nancy decided to keep shadowing the waitress. The trail led Nancy upstream along the river for about half a mile. Presently Jean approached a dilapidated building. She entered the partially open, sagging front door.
As Nancy crept forward, she looked about her constantly. Suddenly she stifled a scream. A grotesque shape was emerging from the river!
The apparition had stubby back fins and a bulging glassed-in prow. It was about fifteen feet long and painted a somber blue.
Then recognition struck Nancy full force. “That’s the ‘shark’ I saw underwater—a miniature submarine!”
Fascinated, she watched the craft glide into a cove adjacent to the shed. A moment later a man’s hand lifted back the glassed-in section and a figure in skin-diving gear stepped to the ground.
Before Nancy could decide what to do, she was grabbed from behind and a rough hand was clapped over her mouth!