Swiss Secrets, Page 2

  “So what’s his problem with Franz?” George wanted to know.

  “Something about watches,” Nancy told her. “Franz accused Petiau of using the Haussman name on his cheap imitation watches. It says here that Franz started the fight and that it’s not the first time he’s attracted notoriety. Then it goes on to say how some society lady called Franz a disgrace to his family and an impetuous child.”

  “No way,” Bess said indignantly. “I know he’s a good guy. He’ll prove it when we see him tonight.”

  “He’s the guy you’re meeting tonight?” Mick asked, surprised. “You girls really move fast!”

  Nancy grinned up at him, and a sudden thought occurred to her. “Why don’t you come with us, Mick?” she said. “I’m sure Franz won’t mind if you come, too.”

  “You think so?” Mick asked quizzically. “He wouldn’t punch me in the nose?”

  “Of course not,” Bess told him. “He’s a great guy. That’s what we’re trying to tell you!”

  Mick smiled at Bess’s remark, but his eyes were fixed on Nancy’s face. “If you want me along, then sure, I’d love to come,” he said. “When and where should I meet you? In the lobby? Eight? Nine?”

  They settled on eight. Mick had an errand to run and strode off down the street while the girls made their way back to the hotel.

  “Well, that makes two great-looking guys we’ve met so far,” Bess said, trying to keep up with Nancy and George. “And they’re both so nice! It’ll be fun having Mick come with us tonight.”

  “I’m sure Nancy thinks so,” George said, fixing Nancy with a sly look. “At least, I’m sure Mick will be happy to spend more time with you, Nan. Did you notice how he kept staring at you?”

  Nancy felt herself blushing. “He did not!”

  “Yes, he did,” Bess and George said in unison. “But we won’t torture you about it,” Bess added diplomatically. “The really important thing is, what are we going to wear to the club tonight? I don’t think I brought anything that’s right.”

  • • •

  The girls had decided that the easiest way to save money on their trip was on their accommodations. As a result, their hotel room was barely big enough for the three of them to change in at the same time. When Mick’s eyes widened as he met them in the lobby, Nancy knew they’d achieved the effect they’d been hoping for even in a cramped space. She was wearing a black, backless minidress, Bess was in a pink silk dress with spaghetti straps, and George wore a red sheath with a wide black belt.

  “You all look great,” Mick said appreciatively. “I’m treating you to a cab—no arguments, please. Those outfits just weren’t meant for public transportation.”

  By night Geneva was even more exciting and festive than it had been during the day. When they passed the waterfront, Nancy noticed dozens of people strolling by Lake Geneva. The sparkling lights of cruise boats moved slowly back and forth over the water.

  “Those boats are called mouettes genevoises. They’re like water buses,” Mick explained.

  “You should be a tour guide,” Nancy said in amazement. “How do you know so much about—Wait, I bet this is the club.”

  Their cab was pulling up in front of a building that looked more like a massive black, window-less box than anything else. A sign above the door read Le Monde in bold lettering. Photographers were standing guard outside the entrance, cameras at the ready to catch anyone who might be famous. All kinds of people were streaming in and out of the club—kids in tattered T-shirts and jeans, sleek and elegant jet-setters, and even what looked like the members of a soccer team having a little postgame fun.

  “This is great!” Bess was already halfway out of the cab. “Come on, you guys—hurry!”

  “Wow!” said all three girls simultaneously the instant they were inside the club.

  Before them was a room that was about the size of a roller-skating rink. Colored lights lit up its translucent dance floor, and the walls had been covered with a heat-sensitive fabric that changed color when touched. A floodlit indoor waterfall was coursing down one entire wall of the room. Nancy was amazed to see that real trees—hung with huge, flamboyant plastic birds—were growing right out of the floor.

  “Welcome to Le Monde—the best club in Geneva!” Nancy turned to see Franz Haussman at her elbow. He was speaking loudly to be heard over the rock music that was blasting in the background. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

  He turned to a pretty, dark-haired girl standing at his side. She had a tangled mass of ringlets and huge, dark eyes. “This is my girlfriend, Monique Montreux,” Franz said.

  Nancy hoped that she was the only one who had witnessed Bess’s disappointment. Still, Monique struck Nancy as being very nice. “Welcome to Switzerland,” Monique was saying warmly. She hesitated slightly over the English words. “How was your first day in Geneva?”

  “Wonderful,” Nancy replied. “Of course we had a tour guide with us,” she added with a smile. “Franz, this is Mick Devlin. Mick, meet Franz Haussman and Monique Montreux.”

  Mick and Franz exchanged a polite greeting, but Monique’s eyes widened at the sight of Mick. “We have met before, no?” she asked in a puzzled, heavily accented voice.

  Nancy was almost sure she saw Mick blush, though the light was too dim to be certain. “Don’t think so,” Mick said gruffly.

  “But I’m sure I have seen you,” Monique insisted. “Could it have been at—”

  This time Mick cut her off before she could finish. “You must have me mixed up with someone else,” he said brusquely. “We’ve never met.”

  Nancy shot him a quick glance, her detective’s instincts aroused. She couldn’t help thinking that Mick sounded as though he were hiding something. Quit it! she ordered herself in the next instant. You’re on vacation, Drew!

  “How is your hotel?” Franz asked, cutting through Nancy’s thoughts.

  George exchanged a grin with Nancy and Bess. “Oh, it’s very comfortable. It has a stunning view of a brick wall, but we have no complaints.”

  “Well, let me show you the view in here,” said Franz, chuckling. “Perhaps you will find it more interesting.”

  Now Nancy realized that the dance area they were in was surrounded by hallways leading to other rooms. Led by Franz and Monique, the girls and Mick threaded their way through the dancers and headed down one hallway.

  “Meet the sixties,” Franz said, ushering them into the room at the end of the hall.

  Nancy blinked in amazement. They were in a room that looked as if it had come straight out of 1967. The walls were covered with a huge paisley print in Day-Glo colors and beanbag chairs were scattered on the floor. Couples wearing patched blue jeans, leather vests, peace signs, and beaded necklaces were dancing to an old song.

  “This is great!” Nancy said enthusiastically. “Does every room in this club have a theme?”

  “Of course,” Franz said, looking pleased by her reaction. “Let’s see—I could take you to the punk room now. Or perhaps the rap room? Or the heavy metal dungeon? There is something for everyone.”

  Nancy was amazed as Franz led her and her friends through the rooms. Each one could have been an entire club in itself. “And now for the diner,” Franz said proudly. He led the group to a perfect replica of a 1950s diner—complete with gum-snapping waitresses and milk shakes.

  “Isn’t this perfect?” he asked as a waitress seated them at a booth covered in turquoise vinyl. “They have authentic American food! I thought you would be glad to have a taste of home.”

  Nancy exchanged an amused look with her friends. “Franz, we’re in Europe to learn new things. We should be having—I don’t know—squid or eels or something.”

  The girls had snatched a quick supper at the hotel before leaving, so they only ordered milk shakes—which did taste great. In a few minutes everyone was talking animatedly.

  “You know, Franz,” George said, scooping up some of her chocolate shake, “I still don’t know what you do.”


  “Oh, all kinds of things,” Franz told her brightly. “I have a great job working for the family business. They’re letting me—”

  He broke off as the pulsing beat of the song in the main dance hall grew extremely loud and drowned out his words. “They must have cranked up the volume to get people to dance. I’ll tell you later,” Franz shouted.

  “We’re close enough to talk,” Mick said, leaning in to Nancy. “You can hear me, right?”

  “Right, but I’ll only listen if you tell me something interesting,” she said, teasing him.

  Mick gave her a devilish smile. “No fear, love. You won’t be able to tear yourself away.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Nancy’s blue eyes were sparkling. “You haven’t said much this evening. In fact, you’ve been awfully easy to ignore.”

  “In that case, you’d better have a dance with me. Then you’ll have to pay attention to me.”

  Nancy hadn’t flirted with anyone in a long time. She was surprised at how easy—and fun—it could be. “All right, Devlin,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll take you up on that. Which room do you want to dance in?”

  “How about the main dance floor?” Mick suggested. “The smaller rooms are fun, but there’s nothing like good old rock ’n’ roll.”

  Nancy turned to everyone else. “Anyone else care to join us on the dance floor?” she shouted.

  “Give us a chance to finish our food first!” Franz shouted back, gesturing to his burger.

  Monique rolled her eyes. “I suppose I must wait for Franz,” she said jokingly.

  Bess and George decided to sit out the song. For a second Nancy wondered about waiting to dance herself, but the music from the main dance area was pulsating through the whole club, and she couldn’t resist it any longer.

  “Just as I suspected,” Mick said a few minutes later. “You’re a great dancer.”

  “You are, too.” Suddenly Nancy felt almost shy. It was a little strange to be having such a good time with someone who—well, who wasn’t Ned.

  “Do you want to dance the next one?” Mick asked. “Or we could—”

  Suddenly someone tugged desperately at Nancy’s arm. She turned to see Bess standing next to her, an expression of horror on her face.

  “Nancy! Come quickly!” Bess cried. “Something terrible has happened!”

  “What? What is it?” Without giving a thought to Mick, Nancy raced off the dance floor.

  “This way,” Bess shouted, pulling Nancy toward the hall that led to the American diner. “There!” Bess pointed a shaky finger down the hall.

  Franz Haussman was lying on the floor, motionless. His face was deathly pale, and blood streamed from his nose, drenching his shirt. A sobbing Monique was kneeling next to him.

  “Oh, no! What happened?” Nancy gasped.

  As she raced toward Franz, pushing through a gathering crowd, a blond, burly man shoved past her and disappeared into the main dance area.

  “That’s the guy!” Bess cried, pointing at the heavyset man. “He’s the one who threatened to kill Franz!”

  Chapter

  Three

  THAT MAN DID a lot more than threaten,” Nancy said grimly, bending over Franz. She was relieved to see that he was still conscious, though he was obviously in pain.

  “That’s a nasty bloody nose, Franz,” Nancy said. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Franz gave her a wan smile. “Just my pride,” he answered as he struggled to sit up. He looked behind Nancy and spoke briefly in French. “C’est fini The show is over, everyone. I am fine.”

  The crowd of curious spectators began to drift away. Mick was standing right next to Nancy, and she found his presence oddly comforting.

  “Franz, do you know who that man was who attacked you?” Nancy asked as Monique dabbed with a tissue at his bloody face. “Did you do anything to make him angry?”

  “Nothing,” Franz replied, but Nancy noticed a flicker of unease in his eyes. “All I did was walk toward the dance floor with Monique. That man must be one of your father’s henchmen, hired to hurt me,” he said to his girlfriend.

  Monique stared at Franz in horror. “No, it could not be,” she whispered hoarsely. “Papa would never hire anyone to hurt you.”

  “Here,” Mick said, stepping forward and bending over Franz. “Let’s take you to the men’s room and clean you up a bit.” With a steadying arm around Franz’s shoulders, Mick led him away.

  When the two guys were gone, Monique turned to Nancy. “Papa would never want Franz hurt,” she said again. “He is—he is very angry about our situation, but to hire someone to hurt Franz? Impossible!”

  “Angry about what situation?” Bess asked.

  “Let’s all sit down somewhere,” Nancy put in gently. “Monique is upset, and no wonder. Shall we go back to the diner?”

  Monique shook her head. “Too noisy, but there is a quiet lounge where we can talk,” she said. “But how will Franz know where we are?”

  “I’ll wait here for him and Mick,” Bess offered.

  “That would be great,” Nancy said. “Where’s George, by the way?”

  “Oh, a cute guy asked her to dance,” Bess told her. “I think they’re in the sixties room. I’m sure she’ll find us when she needs to.”

  Monique led Nancy to a lounge that was decorated like a proper British drawing room. A few couples were talking in low voices at one end of the room, but they paid no attention as Nancy and Monique sank down on a sofa.

  “Are you all right?” she asked Monique.

  “N-not really. It was so hard to see Franz attacked like that and to hear him accuse Father of wanting him hurt.” Monique’s voice wavered, and she fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief.

  “You see,” she continued, gazing earnestly at Nancy, “Papa wants Franz and me to—to settle down. So do Franz’s parents, of course. They only want what is best for us, but they can be very . . . harsh at times. We come from two old, wealthy families. My father owns Montreux Chocolates, and—well, naturally they would like us to marry.”

  “I’ve heard of Montreux Chocolates,” Nancy said. “They’re supposed to be fabulous.”

  Monique nodded distractedly. “We’ll have to make sure that you try some,” she said politely. “Anyway, Papa says he is tired of my spending time with a man like Franz unless we are going to marry. He never stops talking about it.”

  “Well, what are your feelings about Franz?” Nancy asked gently. “Do you think you’re wasting your time?”

  Monique snapped her head around to look at Nancy, her long brown curls bouncing from the sudden motion. “No! That’s just it!” she cried. “We want to get married but not yet. I’m not ready to settle down, either. But my parents don’t believe that. They think I’m protecting Franz.”

  Nancy felt a rush of gratitude that her own father, Carson Drew, was so understanding. She hesitated a moment before asking Monique, “Then how can you be sure your parents aren’t behind this attack on Franz?”

  “Papa would never hire anyone to beat up Franz! What would be the point?”

  “There is no point,” came Franz’s voice from behind the girls. “You are right, Monique. I’ve been thinking about it.” He was standing in the doorway with Mick, Bess, and George. Franz looked much better now, despite the splotches of blood that remained on his shirt. While the rest of the group pulled up chairs, he sat down on the sofa next to Monique and took her hands in his.

  “It was wrong of me to accuse your father like that,” he said. “He may not like our relationship, but he is a fair person. Forgive me?”

  “Of course I do.” Monique beamed at him, and Nancy could tell that they had forgotten everyone else in the room for that moment.

  “I hate to butt in,” Nancy said cautiously, “but if the man who punched you wasn’t hired by Monique’s father, do you have any idea who he is?”

  A momentary flicker of fear crossed Franz’s eyes, but vanished so quickly Nancy was sure no one else had noticed it
. He hesitated before answering. “Of course I don’t know who he is,” he said lightly. “Do I look like the kind of man who has enemies?”

  No, you don’t, Nancy wanted to tell him, but the newspaper implied you have plenty of them.

  Before she could think of a tactful way to ask Franz about the newspaper article, a young man burst into the lounge and stormed over to the group. He had the same reddish brown hair as Franz, but he was thinner and more angular, with a stern look on his face.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you!” the young man said to Franz, frowning. “Then I find out that someone attacked you! Monique, are you all right? What is going on?”

  “Of course we’d like to know the answer to that question too, Erich,” Franz said casually. “But more important than that, I’d like to introduce you to some new friends I’ve made.” Sidestepping Erich’s question, Franz introduced Nancy, Bess, George, and Mick. “And this is my cousin, Erich Haussman. He is always looking out for me,” Franz added with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

  “And you are always making new friends.” The edge in Erich’s voice was just as sharp, but Nancy noticed that he wasn’t even looking at his cousin. Instead, he was staring at Monique, and the longing in his eyes contrasted sharply with his angry words. “You are so busy making friends that it is left to me to run your share of the business.”

  Bess seemed to be as uncomfortable as Nancy with witnessing this argument. “Um, do you two work together?” Bess asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

  “We’re supposed to,” Erich told her in a biting voice. “Our parents thought it would be nice for us to help with the advertising for the family business, Frères Haussman. We make watches. Franz went to art school, so he is responsible for the so-called creative side of things. He works with the agencies to develop advertising campaigns, and then he forgets about them. I went to the faculté de commerce—business school in English—so I take care of all the boring details and finish the projects Franz drops.”