If Looks Could Kill (10 page)

“Don't worry about me,” Martika said. “I'm flushed with excitement. Everything's going so well. Anyway, I have to get the fireworks started,” Martika added, hurrying away. “Enjoy, you two!” She beckoned to Nadine, who followed closely behind her.

“I'm going to the ladies' room to check my makeup,” Maura said after that. “Want to join me?”

Nancy shook her head. She watched as Maura disappeared through the glass doors that led back into the lobby. Then she turned around. Bess and Derek were standing by the railing not far from her. She went over to them.

As Nancy approached, Derek caught a glimpse of her. He whispered something in Bess's ear and quickly walked away. Soon he had melted into the crowd.

“What did he say to you just now?” Nancy wanted to know.

“Oh, he was just whispering sweet nothings in my ear,” Bess said with a giggle. “Really, Nan, you don't have to worry. Derek hasn't got a murderous bone in his body. Although, I must say, he is awfully curious about you. He keeps asking me all these questions about what you're doing and what you're thinking.”

“Uh-huh.” Nancy nodded knowingly. “Be careful around that guy. He's definitely one of our chief suspects.”

“Okay, Nan,” Bess said. “But I'm telling you. You're wrong about him.”

Just then the fireworks began with a big blast. Seconds later, thousands of tiny pink and white lights spilled out of the sky above the cliff. Three
staff members were setting off the fireworks at the edge of the cliff. One starburst after another exploded overhead. The display was elaborate, and it lasted for almost forty-five minutes. Nancy was beginning to get tired of craning her neck to look up. She lowered her head and peered down at the water but couldn't make out much.

When the display finally ended, the crowd broke up. Nancy saw Nadine heading toward the lobby—without Martika!

Quickly Nancy searched for the model but didn't see her. She could feel panic rising inside her until she finally spotted Martika standing at the head of the stairs near the gazebo.

Noticing Nancy, Martika beckoned to her. Nancy walked over to Martika and said, “Why did you send Nadine away?”

“Oh, come now,” Martika protested as she started down the stairs. “Can't I even have a private walk on the beach?”

“No,” Nancy answered. “You can't. Don't you realize what kind of danger you're in? Someone's already tried to kill you twice in the last forty-eight hours. How bad does it have to get before you take it seriously?”

“I take it seriously,” Martika said. “But you're here with me. You'll come along, won't you?”

“Of course,” Nancy replied, beginning to descend the steps. When they reached the first landing, they stood quietly for a while, looking out. Nancy began to relax a little. Maybe her presence and that of the bodyguard had scared off the would-be murderer.

The breeze was stiff, and Martika shivered in the cold. “Wait here for me,” she told Nancy. “I'll be right back. I'm just going up to get a wrap.”

Before Nancy could protest, Martika was running back up the few steps they'd come down. It was just about this time two nights before that someone had taken a shot at Martika, Nancy realized. But a few minutes later, when Martika returned wearing a soft gray shawl, Nancy felt relieved.

The two of them started down again, Nancy in front. About two-thirds of the way a loud bang rang out from below them. They both jumped in surprise and took off running the rest of the way down to the beach.

At first glance the long strip of sand appeared to be deserted.

“What do you think that noise was?” Martika asked. “It sounded like a shot.”

“Maybe it was just a leftover firecracker,” Nancy said as they walked out onto the beach.

Then Nancy saw something lying on the sand,
about twenty paces away. She ran toward it, her dread increasing with every step.

A person lay with fixed eyes staring at the stars, a glittering gold lamé shawl spread like a halo surrounding her head. Nancy froze when she saw the woman's face—it was Martika Sawyer.

N
ANCY KNEW IT COULDN
'
T
be Martika, of course. It had to be Maura McDaniel. Nancy bent down to check her vital signs. Maura was dead, and somebody had killed the wrong person.

Gingerly Nancy lifted the woman's shoulder and saw that a bullet had struck Maura in the back. The bullet hole was small—about the size of the one in Martika's sleeve. It had left no exit wound in Maura's chest, so the New Zealander looked as if she were resting.

“Horrible!” Martika gasped, staring at her look-alike's dead features. “Oh, Nancy, I can't believe it!” Tears trickled down Martika's beautiful face, and she bit down on her fist to keep from sobbing out loud.

Nancy fished a tiny flashlight from her purse to check for clues. At first she saw nothing—no telltale footprints in the powdery sand, no weapon.

Then Nancy spotted something in Maura's hand. She bent down and saw that it was a shred of paper. She removed it and held it up to the beam of her flashlight.

“What is it?” Martika asked.

“A small piece of newspaper,” Nancy informed her. “There's a little bit of printing on it. It says
The Auckland Gazette,
November fifteenth. Auckland is in New Zealand, where Maura was from,” Nancy added more to herself than to Martika. She pocketed the shred of newsprint.

“Not much to go on,” she said. “Still, it's all we have. Maybe the police can find more. And, Martika, we
are
going to call the police.”

“Right.” Martika nodded. “I understand. Oh, Nancy, why didn't I listen to you yesterday? If I had, this poor girl might be alive now.”

“You had no way of knowing this would happen,” Nancy said, consoling her. “You thought you were taking a gamble with your own life, not with anybody else's. Anyway, bringing the police in might not have saved her.”

“I suppose not,” Martika agreed. “Well, let's go up and call them.”

“You go ahead,” Nancy said. “I'm going to stay here and make sure nobody disturbs the body. Just be careful, Martika. Remember—the killer may have already realized his or her mistake.”

“All right,” Martika said.

“If you run into anybody who seems surprised to see you, make a note of it, okay?” Nancy instructed.

“Yes,” Martika replied soberly. With a last shuddering glance at the corpse, she ran for the steps.

Alone with the body, Nancy tried to reconstruct the murder. Maura had been shot in the back but had fallen backward from the impact. It appeared as if the killer hadn't gotten a good enough look at her to know she wasn't Martika. Maura had been wearing Martika's gold lamé shawl, after all.

Nancy wondered about the piece of newspaper in Maura's hand. If the killer had examined the body after the shooting, he or she would have discovered it and in frustration might have ripped it from the dead woman's hand. But why take the paper? Was there something important in that particular newspaper? It was two months old, after all.

Nancy paced down the beach a little way toward the steps she and Martika had come
down. She saw something on the sand there and trained her flashlight on it. She bent down to pick it up. A spent firework. Funny, Nancy thought, pocketing it. This wasn't anywhere near where the fireworks had been set off. Also the wind hadn't been blowing hard enough to carry it off.

Nancy was with the body when the police helicopter flew in and landed on the beach. Several officers scrambled out and ran to the corpse. They roped off the area, setting up floodlights and photographing the crime scene. While a forensics expert examined the body, other officers combed the beach for clues.

The commotion soon drew a crowd of onlookers. Guests and staff alike gathered around to see what was happening. Reporters and photographers were there, too, of course. They stood just outside the ropes, yelling out questions and taking photos.

Nancy saw Martika behind them, watching the proceedings with anxious eyes. No doubt she was visualizing the devastating headlines that would soon be screaming off the front pages of tabloids everywhere.

Nancy spotted Bess and George in the crowd. Kurt and Derek were there, too.

Christina Adams was standing near Nancy in a tight knot of onlookers. “This is absolutely awful!”
she was saying. “But, really, who would want to kill a poor, pathetic child like her?”

Who indeed? Nancy wondered. No one at the resort had anything against Maura McDaniel, as far as she knew. There were many people who might want to kill Martika Sawyer, though—including Christina Adams herself.

As the body was loaded into the helicopter, an officer stepped forward, his white uniform contrasting with his rich brown skin.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called out to the crowd. “I am police Captain Steven Logan from Charlotte Amalie, Saint Thomas. As you all know, there has been a homicide here tonight. You can rest assured we will soon find out who is responsible. Until we do, however, we need your help.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, but Logan persisted. “I must ask you all to remain at Rainbow Cay until further notice. Indeed, I request that you go to your rooms and stay there until we call you in for questioning. For now I would like to see the persons who found the body.”

“Captain Logan?” Nancy called out as she and Martika approached him. “Ms. Sawyer and I discovered the body. My name is Nancy Drew.”

“Ah,” the captain said, giving her a nod before turning to Martika. “Ms. Sawyer, how do you
do? I have seen your face many times, of course, but it's a great pleasure to meet you.”

“Thanks,” Martika said coolly.

“I'd like to speak with you one at a time,” the captain said. “Ms. Sawyer, you first, if you don't mind.”

“Of course,” Martika said, nodding.

“Captain,” Nancy interrupted. “While you're talking to Martika, there's something up in my suite I'd like to show you. Do you mind if I go to get it?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “But hurry back. We have many people to question, and I want to get as much as possible done tonight.”

“Right.” Nancy dashed up the steps to the main house. There she found the premises being searched by at least a dozen officers. They must have come by boat while we were down at the beach, Nancy realized.

In her suite Nancy found George and Bess sitting in the living room, talking about the murder. “Oh, Nan, isn't it awful?” George said. “Poor Maura!”

“Really,” Nancy said sadly as she retrieved the spent shell she'd found in the gazebo. She felt in the pocket of her sweater. The popped firework and the piece of newspaper were still there. “Just as she was feeling positive about starting a fabulous new life.” Nancy felt the anger rising inside
her. “Whoever killed Maura isn't going to get away with it. Not if I can help it.”

“At least the police are involved now,” Bess said.

“True,” Nancy agreed. Going over to her friends, she said, “George, do you know where Kurt was during and just after the fireworks?”

“No,” George answered. “When the fireworks started, he said he had to go do some stuff. He didn't say what. I didn't see him after that.”

“What about you, Bess?” Nancy asked. “Can you account for Derek's whereabouts?”

“Sorry,” Bess said. “He took off during the fireworks, too.”

“Interesting,” Nancy said. “And there are a lot of other loose ends—like what was Maura doing down on the beach in the first place, and why did she have a two-month-old newspaper in her hand? If a silencer was used when someone shot at Martika, why wasn't one used tonight?”

“Gee, Nan,” Bess said, biting her lip. “It is pretty confusing.”

“It sure is,” Nancy agreed. “Well, I'd better go see Captain Logan. He's probably wondering what's keeping me.”

As Nancy went down the stairs to the lobby, she encountered an officer on his way up. “Ms. Nancy Drew?” he addressed her.

“That's me,” Nancy replied.

“Captain Logan sent me to tell you he is
interviewing suspects in Ms. Sawyer's suite. Will you please accompany me?”

“Suspects?” Nancy repeated. “Am I a suspect?”

“Everyone is a suspect at the moment,” the man replied.

When they got to Martika's suite, Nancy saw Logan sitting at the desk, making notes. Martika was nowhere in sight.

“Ah, Ms. Drew,” he said, smiling at her. “Sit down, please,” he added, indicating the chair beside the desk.

Nancy sat, and as soon as she did, Logan rose and started pacing. “Ms. Sawyer has informed me that she asked you here as a private detective,” he began. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Nancy said.

“You have been here for three days and have witnessed several troubling incidents, I am told. Yet you never contacted the police, is that correct?”