Chapter 7 The Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene
Curious Payment
The closet in which Nancy was a prisoner was not only dark but stuffy. Fur garments pressed against her in the crowded quarters, nearly suffocating her.
From the shop, Nancy could hear the murmur of excited voices. She pressed an ear anxiously to a crack in the door and listened.
“I say we call the police at once!” the woman shrilled. “Tell them we captured this thief ourselves and no thanks to their protection.”
“But, Mama, suppose the lady in the fur coat was mistaken?” persisted the proprietor. “All we know is that she rushed in here and warned us a thief named Nancy Drew was coming to steal furs.”
“Well, I believe the lady,” insisted his wife. “This girl admitted she was Nancy Drew, didn’t she? That’s proof enough for me.”
Nancy’s heart sank. “Oh, dear, how silly can people get?” she groaned. “How Mrs. Channing must be laughing at the trick she played on me!”
Suddenly Nancy heard the shop door open. Her first inclination was to cry out for help. But she decided to wait a moment to be sure this was not another enemy.
“Pardon me,” said a voice. “Did a blond girl in a red coat come in here?”
George! Bless her, thought Nancy!
“Why do you ask?” the proprietor demanded suspiciously.
“Because she’s a friend of ours,” piped Bess’s voice. “She left us in a tearoom a few minutes ago. We saw her enter this shop.”
A moment of silence was broken by the woman’s voice. “What was her name?”
“Nancy Drew.”
“She’s a thief and you’ve come to help her steal!” the woman shrieked excitedly. “Papa, let’s lock them up too!”
“What!” George blurted.
Nancy waited no longer. Doubling up her fists, she banged on the closed door with all her might.
“Bess! George! I’m locked in here!” she shouted.
There was a startled exclamation, then the sound of running feet. In a second the key turned in the lock and the closet door swung open.
“Nancy! What happened?” Bess gasped.
“Mrs. Channing told these people to hold me,” explained Nancy breathlessly. “She said I was a thief.”
The man frowned. “Who is Mrs. Channing, please?”
“The woman in the fur coat,” said Nancy. “She stole two mink scarfs in Masonville yesterday. I believe she planned to rob you but saw me coming.”
“Nancy’s a detective,” Bess spoke up.
The mouths of the shop owners dropped open. “A detective?” they chorused, and the man added quickly, “I meant no harm, miss.”
Nancy was amused at the change in their manner, but she had no time for recriminations.
“Where did Mrs. Channing go?” she asked.
“Out the back door,” the chagrined proprietor pointed. “I’m sorry we treated you so badly, young lady.”
“Never mind. Come on, girls!” Nancy called, dashing out the rear door. “Maybe we can pick up that woman’s trail.”
But picking up the trail of the quick-witted Mrs. Channing proved to be as difficult as before. She was not hiding in any of the alleys or shops in the vicinity. Although the girls cruised slowly up and down the streets of Winchester for a long time, and inquired at two other hotels and all the fur shops, no one could give them any information about Mrs. Channing.
“The woman vanishes in smoke like an evil genie,” sighed Bess.
George grinned. “Maybe that’s why we didn’t find her. We’ve searched everything but the town’s smokestacks!”
“Nancy,” said Bess, “it will be dark in a few hours. Why don’t we go home? Besides, I have a date tonight to go skating.”
“Speaking of sports, there’s to be a bobsled party on North Hill tomorrow night,” George interjected. “Jack Daly called me. And if you’d like to, come along, Nancy.”
The young detective smiled. “Ned offered to come down from college for it. But I may have to leave for Montreal any minute.”
Surprisingly enough, it was on the girls’ way back to River Heights that they picked up another clue to Mrs. Channing’s whereabouts. At a service station an employee informed them that a long, black car with a crooked bumper and dented fenders had stopped there for gas.
“Yes,” the attendant admitted, “the driver was a dark woman in a fur coat. I remember her especially, for she seemed terribly nervous—kept looking back over her shoulder all the time.” At the woman’s order he had filled up the gas tank, because she said she was going on quite a long trip.
“Did she tell you where?” Nancy asked.
“No, she didn’t, but it might have been Vermont.”
“Vermont!” the three girls cried out together.
The startled attendant asked what was so strange about that. Before Nancy could stop Bess, she had told most of the story about Mrs. Channing. The man was interested at once.
“You know that woman had two extra fur coats on the back seat,” he said. “The car had a Vermont license, so that’s why I said she might be headed there.”
Nancy was excited over the information.
“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been of real help.” She paid the bill and they started off.
“I suppose our next stop is Vermont?” Bess teased.
“By telephone,” Nancy answered, and put in two long-distance calls to Vermont.
The Bureau of Motor Vehicles informed Nancy that a driver’s license had been issued to a Mitzi Channing. A call to the address which Mitzi had given when she had applied for the license revealed that she no longer was living there and her present whereabouts was unknown. Nancy next called the local police and asked them to alert the Vermont authorities.
When she reached home, Hannah Gruen greeted her with a broad smile. Nancy could tell by the satisfied way in which the housekeeper bustled about to make her comfortable that she was pleased about something.
“I’m sorry you had such a long, tedious trip,” she said.
“Oh, it wasn’t tedious,” Nancy assured her. “In fact, I picked up some good clues.”
“What were you girls doing, anyway? Trailing that nice Mrs. Channing?” Hannah went on.
“Nice!” Nancy bristled. “I certainly wouldn’t call her nice.”
“That’s because you’re prejudiced,” said the housekeeper. “You thought that stock I bought from Mrs. Channing was no good. Well—it is!”
“What makes you think so?” Nancy asked.
“Because in the afternoon mail I received some money from the Forest Fur Company—a nice fat dividend,” Hannah finished triumphantly.
Nancy stared at her in amazement. “You can’t mean that fake fur company actually paid you?” she demanded incredulously.
“They certainly did,” said Hannah. “And Mrs. Martin phoned me that she got a payment too.”
“Why—why—it simply doesn’t make sense,” stammered Nancy as she bounced to her feet and hastily made for the telephone. “I’m going to call Mrs. Clifton Packer.”
The wealthy widow greeted Nancy cordially. She admitted having received a sizable dividend in the mail. But, unlike the other two women, Mrs. Packer was not too enthusiastic about it.
“I suppose the payment was not very large,” Nancy remarked, thinking that the wealthy widow was used to receiving far more sizable dividends from other stocks.
“Oh, no, it’s not that,” Mrs. Packer replied. “Nancy, there’s something queer about the way the money was sent,” she said sharply. “I think you should investigate at once!”