Bonfire Masquerade Page 9

  Dark black and blue marks were already rising on Aaron’s neck, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. They both needed medical attention, now.

  It took long minutes before the ambulance finally arrived. Aaron waved them away, saying he was fine, and insisted that they take Andrew to the hospital first.

  Frank and Joe tried to get into the ambulance with Andrew, but the emergency medical technicians forbade it.

  “Police and family only, I’m afraid,” said one. The Hardys’ ATAC badges might get them a lot of places, but it wasn’t going to work here.

  “Take my car,” said Aaron, holding up the keys.

  “I’ll get a cab. Go!”

  “Thank you,” said Frank.

  “I’ll make sure he gets home safely,” said Bess. “Nancy, you go with them.”

  I was torn. I didn’t want Bess to be alone. But I wanted to hear more about what had happened. And if Andrew woke up, I wanted to be there for it.

  “I’ll go with them, Nance,” added George. “You go with Frank and Joe.”

  That decided it. We hopped in the car and raced to the hospital.

  The emergency room was filled with party-related injuries. Bloodstained costumes and broken masks were everywhere. It looked like a massacre at a circus. If I hadn’t been so focused on Andrew, I would have been terrified.

  “We’re here to see Andrew Richelieu,” Joe said at the desk.

  “Hold on a moment,” said the woman behind the desk. She picked up the phone. “Yes, sir,” she said. “The kids you said would be coming are here.”

  On the other side of the room, a man in a three-piece gray pinstripe suit snapped a cell phone shut and strode over. He looked like he was wearing the costume of a businessman from the 1940s. But it didn’t look like a costume on him!

  “Nancy Drew, Frank Hardy, and Joe Hardy, I presume?” he said.

  We nodded.

  “I am Lawrence Worthington III, the Richelieu family lawyer. Aaron Pexa phoned me and told me what happened. My client, Andrew Richelieu, is in a coma, no thanks to any of you.”

  “Wait a second,” said Frank. “That wasn’t our fault.”

  “Fault is an issue for a judge to decide,” said the lawyer. “But as of right now, I have a temporary restraining order on the three of you. None of you is to be within two hundred feet of Andrew or his property.”

  Joe and Frank looked ready to argue with the lawyer, but there really wasn’t anything they could do.

  “And I’ve already spoken with the police—the chief is an old friend—and there will be no search. Pleasure doing business with you boys. I assume we’re done now. Good evening.”

  Lawrence Worthington III tipped his hat at us and walked out.

  Our criminal was in a coma. Our chance of getting evidence was gone. And now we couldn’t go near him again!

  This case was back at the beginning again.

  CHAPTER 14

  FRANK MURDERED? OR MURDERER?

  This was probably the hardest Joe and I had ever worked on a case to get exactly nowhere. We knew Andrew was involved—but we couldn’t touch him. And since he was in a coma, we couldn’t even work out a deal. We contacted ATAC and had them speak to Andrew’s parents, but they wouldn’t budge on the restraining order.

  And to top it all off, Mom was about to kill us. We’d bumped into her and Dad by accident on the street outside the hotel. Until then, we’d managed to see them only on purpose, when Joe and I had time to carefully hide our hair under wigs and hats. But today we’d run straight into them on our way to Nancy’s place.

  “I know it’s all fun and games, and you got caught up in the Mardi Gras spirit, but look at yourselves!” she said, pointing at our hair. The many Mardi Gras beads around her neck rustled when she moved. “How are you going to go back to school looking like that?”

  “We can dye it back,” said Joe.

  “Or shave our heads,” I added.

  “Or wear hats?” said Dad. At least he knew why we had done it, though he couldn’t say anything.

  “You’re not helping,” said Mom, giving him a dirty look. She threw her hands up at the sky. “Fine! Look like crazy people. What do I care? I’m just your mother.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. The tension was broken. Now we wouldn’t have to bother with the stupid wigs anymore.

  “We’re late for a lunch date,” said Dad. “Your father has kept me on a whirlwind tour of the city. It’s been so romantic. I’m sorry we haven’t been spending much time with you boys.”

  We assured them it was fine—with a wink for Dad—and hurried off on our way.

  “So what did Nancy tell us?” Joe asked.

  “That the party was pretty full that night, but she was sure there had to be a guest list somewhere. So that’s a place to start.”

  With our case dead in the water, we’d decided to help Nancy on hers. There was still a chance they were connected, but it was beginning to look less and less likely. Seemed like Daniel was just unlucky enough to have his building burned down by one person, and then get murdered by someone else. Some people just couldn’t catch a break.

  When we arrived at the late Daniel’s house, I gave a low whistle. This place was swank. Nancy answered the door on the first knock.

  “Where is everybody?” I asked. The place sounded empty.

  “Dad’s been working out of Daniel’s office. He says being here makes him sad. Yvette, Daniel’s sister, felt the same way, so she’s gotten a hotel room downtown. She says she’s going to sell the place after we leave.”

  “Hey, Frank! Hey, Joe!” Bess called from the kitchen. “Come grab some pancakes before George scarfs them all down.”

  “No need to tell me twice,” said Joe.

  Over some lopsided—but delicious—pancakes, we discussed the status of Nancy’s case.

  “So it seems like the arson and the murder aren’t related,” said George.

  “Probably not,” said Nancy. “But who knows?”

  “Right. But for the moment, since we’ve got no leads on the arson, let’s look at it as a separate case,” I added.

  “What we know is this,” said Nancy. She pulled out a big piece of paper and put it in the middle of the table. Bess and Joe moved the dishes out of the way so we could all lean over it. George had her laptop set up in front of her and was typing away.

  “Daniel was involved in negotiations with two people over his building: Nicole Leveaux and Aaron Pexa.”

  She drew all three names on the paper, with lines connecting them.

  “They were both at the party that night. Since then, Nicole’s been acting suspicious. She’s dropped out of the bidding on the building.”

  “Maybe she wanted to throw off suspicion,” I said. “Or felt bad about killing Daniel. It could have been an accident.”

  “What if Daniel told her he was going to sell to Aaron?” added Bess. “Maybe she got so angry, she choked him without realizing what she was doing.”

  “All possible,” said Nancy, writing down the various reasons. “But on the other hand, Aaron is the one buying the building in the end—so maybe he got exactly what he wanted, and just had to take Daniel out to do it.”

  “That’s not her name!” George suddenly shouted.

  “What?” we all asked at the same time.

  “Nicole Leveaux. It’s not even her real name. I was suspicious about that—turns out her real name is Nicole Pasulka, and she’s from Chicago. She changed it when she moved down here.”

  “Can you search and see if she’s got a criminal record under that name? And check Aaron, too, while you’re at it.”

  We chowed down on the last of the pancakes while George did some searching.

  “Aaron’s clean. But looks like Nicole was wanted for a bunch of misdemeanors—fraud, bad checks, that kind of stuff.”

  “Well, that’s enough to move her to the top of our list,” I said. “I think it’s time we went and talked to her again.”

 
“Agreed,” said Nancy.

  “Why doesn’t someone else go this time?” said Joe.

  “She didn’t seem to like me much, and I promised Lenni I’d go with her to explain the bikes to the Krewe. Plus, I figured I’d take a picture of Andrew along and see if anyone recognizes him. Maybe they can fill us in on some of his accomplices.”

  “And Bess and I told Aaron we’d drop by his office,” said George. “He needs some help setting up for the party, and he promised me he’d show me the 3D printers they use in his office to construct models. They can actually make figures you design on the computer in real life!”

  “Sounds like a plan. Should we meet back here before his party?” Nancy asked.

  “If we’re done in time,” said Bess. “Or else we’ll just see you there.”

  With everything agreed, we split up.

  Nancy and I headed out to Nicole’s house, which was thankfully located not far from Daniel’s. We walked through a crowded parade. From a float in front of us, massive speakers blasted techno, and dancers dressed like underwater creatures threw beads into the crowds. Everyone looked so happy.

  “When this case is done, I hope we have time to enjoy Mardi Gras a little,” said Nancy.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  We smiled at each other. It was nice having Nancy around—someone else who could understand what it was like being in ATAC.

  Nicole’s house was one of the old New Orleans–style houses, which meant that there was just a small gate on the street, which led back to a large courtyard.

  “Look at this,” Nancy said, pointing to a sign on the gate.

  HOLD ALL MAIL AT POST OFFICE, it read.

  “And look at that,” I whispered. I pointed toward the house. It was set back, and there were a lot of plants on the porch. All the shutters were closed, and the lights were off. But one of the shutters right by the front door looked as though it had been broken, and it banged back and forth in the wind.

  I had a bad feeling about this. We pushed the main buzzer. Off in the distance, we heard a chime go off. But no one answered. We tried again. Nothing.

  “Should we … ,” I started to ask, but Nancy already had a set of lock picks out of her bag.

  It took only a moment to open the gate. Nicole’s security system was nothing like Andrew’s. I was a little nervous, considering how our last breaking-and-entering experience had gone, but I had to admit, I was worried.

  “What if someone’s broken in?” said Nancy. “We have to check this out.”

  Up close, the house seemed even more deserted. Nothing moved in the courtyard. Aside from the one broken shutter, everything else was closed and boarded up.

  Nancy touched the door, and it swung open. This was getting weirder and weirder.

  She put her finger to her lips, and quietly, we both went inside.

  The house was eerily quiet. The power must have been off, I realized, and without the usual hum of a thousand electronic gadgets, it seemed like the inside of a tomb. We wandered from room to room but saw no one. Even though the shutters were closed, thankfully light still filtered in through the slats, or else it would have been pitch-black inside.

  In one or two rooms, it was obvious someone had left in a hurry. A hall closet was in disarray, as though someone had pulled a few things out of it and just let the rest lay where they had fallen. Inside the kitchen, two drawers were opened and empty.

  “She’s gone,” I said. My voice sounded incredibly loud in the empty house. No point in being quiet if there was no one around to hear us.

  Nancy sighed.

  “Yup,” she agreed. “How much you want to bet she’s somewhere in South America or another country where we can’t bring her back for a murder trial?”

  Before I could answer her, a noise came from above us. In a normal house, it would have gone completely unnoticed—it sounded like something small being dropped on a carpeted floor, right above our heads. Nancy and I froze.

  I jerked my head back the way we had come. There were stairs near the main entrance. We crept quietly and quickly back. Were we lucky enough to have caught Nicole in the act of leaving?

  At the top of the stairs, I hesitated. The hallway spread in three directions: right, left, and center. I was pretty sure the sound had come from the left, but who knew which door led to the right room? This place was big.

  With nothing else to do, I listened for a minute. There—I thought I caught the sound of footsteps coming from behind the door to the right.

  I opened the door to reveal a long hallway, with a bright red carpet, multiple doors on either side, Mardi Gras masks hanging from all the walls—and two masked men, dressed like jesters, holding guns.

  “Run, Nancy!” I yelled.

  The gunmen seemed as surprised to see us as we were to see them. It gave us a crucial one-second head start. I pushed backward, knocking Nancy out of the way as I pulled the door shut. The door shuddered as a bullet struck it.

  Whoever these guys were, they were serious.

  “Ooph!” Nancy said, as she hit the ground hard. I reached down to help her up, and the door flew open, knocking me over and back toward the stairs.

  Nancy kicked out, getting the first gunman right in the knee. He landed next to me and his gun went flying down to the first floor. I threw myself on top of him. He rolled, and we were teetering at the top step. If we went down like this, we’d probably both break our necks!

  I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t pull my attention away for one second to see if Nancy was okay. This guy was strong! We grappled on the floor, each trying to get the upper hand and send the other over the steps.

  I heard heavy breathing, and sounds of struggle. Nancy was holding her own.

  I got the guy on his back and managed to pin one of his arms with one of my legs. Now I had the advantage. Slowly, I pushed him toward the top step.

  “Frank! Watch out!”

  Something hit me hard in the back. I fell to the left, and just had time to crunch into a ball before I started rolling down the steps. I hit the ground and kept rolling, hoping that the other gunman wasn’t a good shot. It was only as I stood up that I realized what had hit me: Nancy. She was on her back at the bottom of the stairs. I looked up, and the gunmen were gone.

  CHAPTER 15

  NANCY THIS PARTY IS THE BOMB

  “Are you all right?”

  I came to and found Frank standing above me. It took me a moment to remember where we were.

  “The gunmen! Frank, watch out!” The last thing I remembered was being sent tumbling down the steps, which meant those goons were still up there. At any moment, I expected bullets to come flying down.

  “They’re gone,” said Frank. “They took off running down the hallway.”

  I noticed something in my hand. I was holding the other thief’s gun. Between that, and the one on the ground not far from us, I realized we must have disarmed them.

  “We’ve got their guns,” I said. “Let’s go after them.”

  We emptied the two guns of bullets and took them with us. We didn’t want to accidentally shoot anybody, but it might help to intimidate them. We stalked our way through the rooms upstairs, but the men were nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, we found a servant’s staircase that led to a back door, which stood open. The two men were gone.

  “Who do you think they were?” I wondered.

  “The costumes—they looked sort of like the ones the gang was wearing when George and I ran into them. But I guess all black costumes look pretty similar… .”

  “Do you think they were working with Nicole? Or for her?” Could she be the woman behind the gang?

  “Maybe,” said Frank. “Or they could have been looking for her. Maybe someone sent them to get Nicole out of the way.”

  “But why?” I wondered. “She’s already dropped out of the bidding on Daniel’s warehouse.”

  “Let’s see if they left anything behind up here.”

  W
e started working our way slowly through the second floor of the house again. Here, there was more evidence of disarray. The doors and drawers in her bedroom were flung open, clothes strewn everywhere.

  “Someone left here in a hurry,” I said.

  “Or those two guys were looking for something,” said Frank.

  Every piece of evidence seemed to point in both directions: Nicole was innocent, she was guilty; she was in danger, she was dangerous.

  Finally we made our way to what must have been her office. The room was paneled in dark wood, with velvet drapes. All the walls were lined with bookshelves, and there was a ladder going up one wall. It was like a miniature library, complete with a giant oak desk with one of those brass-and-green-glass lamps. Like her bedroom, the room had obviously been gone through by someone in a hurry.

  “This is going to take awhile,” I said, pointing to the massive filing cabinets in the corner of the room. There must have been reams and reams of files in them.

  “At least no one set the evidence on fire this time,” Frank joked.

  “That’s looking on the bright side,” I muttered, as I pulled open one of the desk drawers to reveal folder after folder of papers. Each was carefully labeled. Unfortunately, the labels were either in some language I’d never heard of, or some kind of complicated code. They didn’t even seem to be organized alphabetically.

  “This mean anything to you?” I asked Frank, showing him one of the labels.

  “It means I need to study more languages, I think,” he responded.

  I decided to start with the folders that were lying on top of her desk. If we were lucky, they were out for a reason. I flipped open the first one. It was full of inventory lists. From the items described (200 plastic alligators, 100 rubber zombies), I guessed they were for Nicole’s stores.

  The next folder was receipts—food mostly, and toiletries. The next was just a list of music. But on the fourth, I got lucky.

  The file was brimming with real estate notices, mostly for buildings up for sale, or recently purchased, all around New Orleans. Looked like Nicole was hoping to expand her empire, or at least keeping track of the possibilities. It was the first clipping that really got my attention.