guests that she was available twenty-four hours if need
be, she led Nancy into a room off the hall marked
Reception.
The moment she sat, she dropped her face in her
hands and burst into tears.
“Annabel!” Nancy said, rushing over and placing a
comforting arm around her shoulders. “Don't cry!
We'll figure things out.”
“I'm sorry, Nancy,” Annabel said, wiping her tears
away. “This sort of behavior isn't like me at all. I'm
normally quite professional—it's just that I'm strained
to the breaking point. Someone is clearly out to strike a
blow at Moorsea Manor. What if a guest gets hurt?
And what if our business is ruined?” She cast a
desperate look around the sunny room. “I'd lose this
place.”
Nancy sat down in a nearby chair. She'd been
looking forward to her vacation, but Annabel needed
her help. Plus, she realized, that with a maniac loose at
Moorsea, peace and quiet would be in short supply,
even if she didn't agree to investigate.
Annabel shot her a curious look. “But why did you
want to talk to me, Nancy?”
Nancy smiled. “To offer to help you find whoever is
playing these tricks. You see,” she added modestly,
“I'm a detective.”
Annabel's eyes shone. “You are? What a terrific
stroke of luck! Well, if you'll take charge of this
investigation, Hugh and I will do whatever we can to
help you.”
“Let's start with a few questions, then,” Nancy said,
sitting forward. “First, can you think of anyone who
might bear a grudge against you?”
Annabel pursed her lips as she thought. “Yes, Billy
Tremain,” she answered after a moment. “He used to
be the shepherd here, but we had to fire him two
months ago for mishandling the birth of a pair of
lambs. One of the lambs died because of Billy's
carelessness. He was furious when we fired him. He
has a very surly personality—so I wasn't sorry to see
him go.”
“Anyone else?” Nancy asked, filing Billy Tremain
away in her mind as a possible suspect.
Annabel tapped a slender forefinger against her
cheek. “I can't think of any other person who might
bear us a grudge, but I can think of two people who
would be absolutely thrilled if we went out of
business.”
“Really? Who?” Nancy asked.
“The Singh brothers. They're identical twins who are
big developers in the area,” Annabel explained.
“They're hot to get their hands on Moorsea Manor so
they can make a killing developing the land. If our inn
fails, Hugh and I would have to sell Moorsea—and
those Singh chaps would be first in the queue to buy it,
I'm sure.”
“Can you tell me what Billy and the Singh brothers
look like and how I can track them down?” Nancy
asked.
“Billy is short and stocky, with broad, strong-looking
shoulders,” Annabel told her. “He's got dark hair,
green eyes, and a mole on his left cheek. I don't believe
I've ever seen him smile. He lives in a ramshackle
farmhouse about four miles away on the moor.
“As for the Singhs, they immigrated from India years
ago and have an office on High Street in Lower
Tidwell—they're realtors as well as developers. They're
about thirty, tall and thin, dark haired and dark eyed,
with hair-trigger tempers, I'm told. But I also hear they
can be charming when it suits them.”
“Is their business successful?” Nancy asked.
“Very,” Annabel replied. “In fact, most people think
it's too successful. The countryside around here is so
beautiful and unspoiled, and most people want it to
remain that way. The Singhs have bought up land and
subdivided it without regard to natural beauty or to the
feelings of the community.”
“I guess their business has made lots of money,”
Nancy remarked.
“Lots,” Annabel said. “People around here are
jealous of the Singhs' wealth. And they bitterly resent
the fact that the money has been made at their
expense—by tearing up the countryside that they all
love.”
Nancy nodded as she considered that information.
“Thanks, Annabel,” she said, standing up. “I'll start by
investigating these guys, then. I'll see what clues I can
turn up.”
“Please be careful, Nancy,” Annabel warned. “This
person clearly means business—look what almost
happened to George. And if he, or she, suspects you of
spying—” She gave a small shudder.
“Don't worry. I'll be careful,” Nancy assured her.
“But please don't tell any of the other guests about my
role. George and Hugh, of course, will be in on our
secret—that's all.”
Annabel extended her hand for Nancy to shake.
“Nancy, I feel better already knowing you're on the
case.”
Nancy said goodbye to Annabel, then headed
upstairs to tell George about the investigation. But
George was not in their room. Steam coated the
bathroom mirror, and George's muddy clothes lay in a
heap on the floor. George had obviously just showered
and changed, Nancy reasoned, but where could she
have gone?
Nancy hurried outside, scanning the lawn and
pastures from the front stairs. Could she be checking
out the beach? Or maybe the sheep barn?
Nancy strode toward the barn. Inside, she heard a
murmuring noise at the far end.
“George?” she began, walking toward the sound.
A young, dark-haired man jolted upright from where
he'd been slouching over a stall door. He scowled
angrily at Nancy, his dark eyebrows drawing together
in a thick black line above green eyes. A large mole
stood out prominently on his left cheek.
Nancy did a double take. This guy perfectly matched
Annabel's description of Billy Tremain! But why was he
lurking around here if he'd been fired? she wondered.
“Uh, do you work here at Moorsea?” she asked
curiously.
“What's it to you, miss?” he asked, squaring a set of
powerful-looking shoulders.
Nancy refused to lower her gaze. “I'm a guest here,”
she answered, “and I just wondered who you were.”
Violently punching his left palm with his right hand,
he began to stalk toward her. “Well, I'll thank you to
keep your questions to yourself!” he growled in a
menacing tone.
Nancy's heart raced. Was he actually going to attack
her?
7. A Mysterious Sign
“Stop right there!” Nancy commanded, trying to take
control of the situation. This guy looks as if he could
tackle a bear, she thought. I'd better get ready to
defend myself, just in case.
She glanced to her side, spying a small shovel a few
feet away. But before she could make a move to grab i
t,
Billy stopped, then quickly spun around. Without
another word, he disappeared out the backdoor of the
barn.
Nancy took a deep breath, then exhaled in relief.
Annabel sure wasn't kidding when she described the
guy's attitude, she thought grimly.
Nancy retraced her steps out of the barn,
determined to find George. Maybe she's at the beach,
Nancy thought. But just as she was heading across the
lawn toward the sea, she caught sight of George
jogging toward her, carrying two tennis racquets.
“Where have you been, Nancy?” George puffed as
she reached her. “I've been hoping to scare up a game
of tennis. These racquets belong to the inn, but I'm
sure they'll do.”
“I've been hunting for you, too, George,” Nancy
said. “Annabel—and I—think that someone may be
playing these tricks to hurt the inn. She wants me to
investigate; naturally, I need your help.”
George grinned. “What did I tell you? You've
already found yourself a mystery—and it's only our
second day of vacation. Sure, I'll help out. Do you have
any suspects yet?”
Nancy was about to answer when she noticed
Malcolm Bruce, the Scottish actor, sneaking up behind
George.
Malcolm's bright blue eyes twinkled as he touched
his forefinger to his lips to silence Nancy. Then he
clapped his hands over George's eyes.
George spun around. “Malcolm!”
“George!” Malcolm retorted, punching her playfully
on the arm. “I see Nancy and you are aiming to get
some shots in,” he said in his Scottish brogue. Then he
mimicked a tennis forehand stroke. “Well, may the best
player win.”
George laughed, then caught Nancy's expression.
“Actually, Malcolm,” George said firmly, “Nancy and I
are busy now. I'm sure we'll be getting a game in later,
though.”
“Busy?” Malcolm asked. “Doing what?”
Making up a quick explanation, Nancy said, “George
was just trying to get me to join her in a game but I've
already told Ashley we'd play cards with her. We were
just heading inside when you came along.”
Nancy paused for a moment, chewing her lip in
thought. She was hoping to track down Annabel to let
her know about Billy, and she could certainly do that
without George's help. “Well, I'm sure Ashley wouldn't
mind if just I showed up,” she added. “And I get the
feeling George is really up for some tennis.”
“Well, then, George,” Malcolm said, flashing her a
flirtatious grin, “I know I'm a poor substitute for
Nancy. But if you don't mind my two left feet, I'd be
honored if you would hit a few balls with me.”
George's face lit up. “Two left feet, Malcolm—give
me a break! I'm sure you'll cream me. Come on, let's
nab that court before someone else does.”
George and Malcolm headed toward the tennis
court while Nancy jogged to the house to search for
Annabel.
Nancy found both Annabel and Hugh inside the
reception office poring over correspondence. A look of
alarm passed over Annabel's face as she took in
Nancy's grave expression. Hugh closed the door and
explained that Annabel had told him about Nancy's
investigation. Then he and Annabel looked attentively
at Nancy.
“I just saw Billy Tremain,” Nancy declared, sitting
down in a vacant chair. “At least, I think it was him.”
She told the Petersons the details of her confrontation
in the barn.
“I'm sure that's who the chap was,” Annabel said in
distress. “Your description fits him to a T.”
Hugh pushed back his chair and jumped up, his blue
eyes flashing angrily. “If I find Billy on our property,
I'm going to make mincemeat of him.”
“Be careful, darling, that he doesn't make
mincemeat out of you,” Annabel warned as Hugh
strode furiously out of the room. Her voice fell to a
helpless murmur as he rushed away, undeterred.
As soon as Hugh had gone, Nancy asked Annabel
what she knew about the guests staying at Moorsea and
the location of each guest's room.
“Do you really think a guest could be responsible for
this mischief?” Annabel asked, surprised. “After all,
guests are the ones who have suffered these awful
tricks. Just think of the treasure hunt. Everyone faced
danger except for Nigel, and he suffered ridicule at
dinner the other night.”
“Still, I don't want to rule anyone out yet,” Nancy
told her.
Annabel nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I don't know
much more about our guests than you do, Nancy. They
all seem on the up-and-up to me. I can't imagine why
any of them would want to drive us out of business.
“As for the room setup, we've got six guest rooms on
the second floor and a seventh on the third. Hugh and
I live on the third floor, too, in a separate wing that has
a private staircase leading up from the second floor.”
Counting off on her fingers, Annabel went on, “The
Macmillan-Browns are in Room One, Ashley is next to
them in Room Two, you and George have Room
Three, Nigel Neathersfield writes his annoying reviews
in Room Four, Georgina Trevor hibernates in Room
Five, and Room Six is empty this weekend because
Bruce stays on the third floor in Room Seven.”
“Hmm, Malcolm Bruce,” Nancy said, as a sudden
realization crossed her mind. “You know, Annabel, I
don't remember seeing Malcolm at the treasure hunt.”
“That's right,” Annabel said with a start. “He wasn't
there. He'd asked me not to make him any clues. He
said he wanted to sleep late this morning.”
“So he's the only guest who hasn't been the victim of
a prank,” Nancy went on. “Something bad has
happened to every other guest.” She looked at Annabel
appraisingly, then asked, “Would you mind if I search
his room? He's playing tennis with George now, so this
would be the perfect time to check it out.”
Annabel sighed. “He is our guest, though, Nancy,”
she said reluctantly. “I feel odd giving you a key to his
room. I'm responsible for his privacy, after all. What if
he catches you there?”
“Don't worry, I'll make up some excuse. And I
definitely won't tell him you gave me permission to
search his room,” Nancy replied. “And what if he really
is behind these pranks? We owe it to everyone here to
check out that possibility.”
Annabel's hazel eyes narrowed. “All right,” she said,
reaching for a key on a row of pegs labeled with room
numbers. “I'll trust your judgment, Nancy. There are
two staircases leading upstairs from the second floor—
Malcolm's is the one directly across the hall from your
room.”
Na
ncy thanked Annabel as she took the key. Then
she hurried upstairs to the third floor.
At the top of the stairs was a spacious foyer, lit by a
large window, with a closed door facing her. Nancy
unlocked the door and stepped into a huge sunny room
with windows on three sides. An unmade bed draped
in red velvet took up most of the space on her left,
several oil paintings of country scenes hung on the
walls, and on her right a tall antique bureau reached
almost to the ceiling. Against a nearby wall, an empty
suitcase lay open on a luggage rack.
After shutting the door behind her, Nancy checked
under the bed and on top of the night tables. Finding
nothing, Nancy went to work on the bureau. She had to
stand on a chair to see in the highest drawers, but after
five minutes of careful searching among Malcolm's
clothes, she'd turned up no clues.
Her gaze fell on a door next to the luggage rack. The
closet, Nancy guessed. She placed the chair back
against the wall and opened the door. Inside, three or
four summer sports jackets hung neatly on hangers.
Behind them, Nancy caught a glimpse of a white object
propped in a corner, partly hidden by the coats. What
in the world? Nancy thought. She pushed the jackets
aside.
It was a white rectangular piece of wood nailed to a
pole about her height. Black letters were painted on its
surface.
Nancy's jaw dropped as the words jumped out at
her: B Road, Scenic Drive, Danger—Extremely Steep
Incline.
It's the road sign for the monster hill, Nancy
realized. Malcolm must have stolen it—obviously as a
prank. I'll bet he's guilty of the pranks at Moorsea, too,
she reasoned.
A key rattled in the door. Nancy froze. Malcolm was
back! But why so soon?
8. Missing!
Nancy leaped into the closet and shut the door. In the
dark, she flattened herself into a corner. The sleeves of
Malcolm's coats tickled her face. Her heart hammered
against her chest.
She fixed her eyes in the direction of the door,
hoping Malcolm wouldn't open it. To her frustration,
there was no keyhole to look through—just a narrow
space under the door through which a slender shaft of
daylight shone.
Heavy footsteps thumped across the floor toward
the closet. Nancy held her breath, expecting the door
to be yanked open at any second.