Mystery by Moonlight, Page 2

  “I’m past dead already,” Ned said. “The minute my head hits the pillow, I’m going to be out like a light. And I want to get up early and check out the lake. But no way this guy’s turning down one of your brownies, Bess.”

  “I’m still too revved up to sleep!” Nancy declared, looking around the kitchen. She spotted a tray propped against the wall by the sink. Grabbing it, she loaded it with the pitcher of tea, the glasses, napkins, and a plate of brownies. “Let’s take this out to the deck—unless there are too many mosquitoes.”

  “Nope—Jason’s first purchase for the cottage was one of those bug zappers!” George said, as Ned opened the screen door for Nancy.

  “Which, vile as they are, at least repel bugs.” Bess wrinkled her nose and looked distastefully at the bug-repellent device. It cast an eerie purple light over one corner of the deck.

  Nancy put the tray on a round picnic table. The four friends grabbed their drinks, brownies, and napkins and settled down in the wood chairs. For a moment they were silent.

  “What we really need around here,” Bess said, pouring herself more iced tea, “is some sort of ghost repellent!”

  “Here we go again!” George groaned, propping her feet up against the deck’s railing.

  “Because you sleep like a log, you don’t hear the noises that go on out here on the lake, in the woods, and in the walls of the house!” Bess reminded her.

  “There was a scream before,” Ned conceded. “I heard it—though I’m sure it wasn’t a ghost. It was probably that Millicent woman freaked out by the dog—what was its name?”

  “Tiny!” Bess, Nancy, and George all answered at once, dissolving into giggles.

  “Seriously, Bess,” Nancy said as the laughter died down, “it’s possible that if those people do research at night, they might be making the noises you hear. . . . ”

  “In the house?” Bess scoffed.

  “You could always ask them,” Ned suggested.

  “No way,” George said. “They aren’t very friendly, in case you hadn’t noticed. The less we have to do with them, the better.”

  Nancy gazed out over the water, a smile playing across her lips. Leave it to Bess to get herself so worked up over ghosts. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. She turned and looked to her right. Puddles of light splashed the surface of the water, but closer to shore it was black as a shadow. Nancy leaned forward and shielded her eyes from the low light of the deck lanterns. As her vision adjusted to the dark, she was sure she saw a darker shadow slide through the dark waters near the shore.

  “Nancy!” Bess cried, a note of fear in her voice. “What are you looking at?”

  Nancy motioned for Bess to be quiet. “I’m not sure,” Nancy whispered. “But I think someone or something is out there on the water!”

  3

  Dangerous Curve

  “What kind of something?” Bess gasped.

  Nancy shook her head and leaned farther over the railing. Ned, George, and Bess joined her.

  “I don’t see anything,” Ned said.

  Nancy frowned, still straining to distinguish between the shadows playing on the water near shore. “Me either, anymore. I’m sure something was in the water. It was long—like a boat, or a canoe, or maybe even some kind of big lake otter or beaver. Do you have them here?” She turned to face George, and a noise on the back porch made her jump.

  “Someone’s here!” Nancy cried, turning around quickly.

  “Knock, knock,” a light, pleasant female voice called through the back screen door. “You guys all right?”

  Bess sagged against George. “Oh, it’s only Emily!” she said with obvious relief.

  “We’re out here on the deck,” George called.

  “Late night party?” the girl asked.

  The back door squeaked open, and Nancy saw a young woman come into the kitchen and cross the family room.

  Emily stood hesitantly on the other side of the deck’s screen doors. Though she stifled a yawn as she walked up to Nancy, she looked perfectly wideawake.

  “I heard some sort of major ruckus going on over here and got worried. I thought maybe Steve’s dog was hassling you guys—since hassling me doesn’t seem to be working!” she said.

  “That’s not exactly what happened, but thanks for checking. Actually, we just thought we saw someone down on the lake,” George told her.

  “On the lake? At this hour?” Emily stepped onto the deck. “Unless Steve’s got some new trick up his sleeve, I doubt it.”

  “Maybe it was just an animal . . . a beaver,” Nancy suggested. “And by the way, I’m Nancy Drew, and this is my friend Ned Nickerson.”

  Emily put out her hand. “Emily Griffen, here. Bess and George mentioned you guys were coming for the week. That should set off the Lawrence-Joneses! They positively cringe at the sight of anyone under thirty!” She laughed, and two deep dimples appeared on her cheeks.

  “So have you seen night animals on the lake?” Nancy asked.

  Emily shrugged. “Actually, I’m not much of a night person myself. But there are beavers around here. I don’t know if they swim around the lake at night. I was asleep when I heard the noise.” She glanced around the deck, then out over the lake, then back across the yard toward the woods. “Everything seems quiet around here, so I’ll head back. I was about ready to call the cops!”

  “No need for that,” Nancy assured her.

  “Want to take a brownie with you?” Bess offered.

  Emily shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going back to bed. I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if there are any left.”

  Bess saw Emily out, and George brought the tray back into the kitchen, with Nancy and Ned close behind. “Your room is at the end of the hall, Ned. Nancy’s is at the top of the stairs,” George said. Ned started up the steps with the bags.

  “That was sweet of Emily to head over here right away when she thought there was trouble,” Bess said as she began putting the food away.

  George looked up from the sink where she was washing the glasses. “ ‘Right away’ isn’t how I’d put it. It took her a while to get here.”

  “She was asleep,” Nancy said absently. “Though that girl’s beyond lucky. She sure doesn’t wake up with bed-head!”

  “You can say that again,” Bess said with a sigh. Bess’s hair was silky and straight and tended to look a major mess in the mornings.

  “And did you see her shoes?” George laughed.

  “Shoes and socks!” Nancy said.

  “Of course you’d be the one to notice that,” Bess teased. Nancy’s keen eye seldom missed any details.

  “It is sort of weird to be freaked out about noises over here, and then take the time to put on shoes and socks,” George commented. “I’d race out barefoot—or, at the most, grab my flip-flops.”

  “To each his own,” Nancy said with a yawn. “She seems like a nice neighbor.”

  “I like her. She apparently freelances as a TV journalist making documentaries, so she’s usually buried in work. But maybe now that you guys are around, we can convince her to hang out with us more,” Bess said. “We’re going to town tomorrow; I’ll ask her to come along.”

  • • •

  After a leisurely late breakfast on the deck, the four friends piled into Nancy’s Mustang and headed back toward Lost Valley, the small town that serviced the lakeside community. Despite Bess’s invite, Emily didn’t join them.

  It was the last week in August, just before Labor Day, and the village was busy. Nancy cruised Main Street twice, finally settling for a parking space at a meter in front of the town square. As she tucked her keys in the pocket of her shorts, she remarked, “Weird. This place didn’t always have a lake, but those big houses on the hill are pure Victorian.” She turned to George. “Did the village ever have another name?”

  “Yeah,” George replied, pointing to a bronze historic marker planted in the grass a few feet away. “The whole story’s here. The town us
ed to be called Lenape. The stream that was dammed up to flood the valley was Lenape Creek. About five years after the power company created the new lake, people voted to rename the town, since Lenape Creek didn’t exist anymore.”

  “Weren’t the Lenape an Indian tribe?” Nancy asked.

  Bess nodded. “They still are. There’s a small reservation just to the north of town. Apparently, the tribal activists want to go back to the old name of the town. Originally the tribe was so angered by the creation of the dam, they didn’t want their name associated with the town.”

  “Meanwhile, they’re also in court trying to reclaim some of the sacred burial grounds around the lake,” George added.

  “The marker says the valley was a sparsely populated farm community,” Ned pointed out, shaking his head. “But I bet the people whose pioneer forefathers settled the area found it hard to lose their land.”

  Nancy looked thoughtful. “It must have been difficult for all the residents of the valley to lose their homes.”

  “But that was a long time ago!” George reminded them, stopping to shake a pebble out of her sandal. “And Lost Valley has become a pretty successful tourist town. From what I’ve seen in the paper, no one, except for the hardcore Lenape activists, wants to see the lake drained and the valley restored, even if it were possible. This place is the biggest tourist and vacation attraction this end of the Poconos.”

  As they started toward the center of town, Nancy could see George’s point. The stores lining Main Street looked prosperous, busy, and inviting.

  Bess managed to move past most of the shops. “We can come back and explore all these places another day, if you guys want,” Bess told them as she approached a large corner store. Outside were benches, big brown wooden pickle barrels, and a sign announcing that their iced tea was fresh-brewed and very cold. “This is the General Store. We’ve been shopping here instead of out at the big supermarket in the mall, even though it costs a little more. It’s way more fun!”

  With that, she opened the double screen door and marched in. Nancy and the others followed. Even after she pocketed her sunglasses, it took a moment for Nancy to adjust to the interior light. The store’s wood paneling gleamed. Shelves lining the wall were crammed with everything from jeans, work-clothes, and work boots, to toys and hardware. One area held a wide selection of canned and packaged grocery items. As Nancy’s eyes adjusted, she saw there was a butcher counter at the back of the store, and another large area devoted to hunting and fishing supplies and other sports gear. An oval counter in the center of the room was lined with jars of candy and novelties, and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air.

  “Cool,” Ned commented, heading straight for the hardware department. George started in the same general direction, making a beeline for the sporting gear, but Bess suddenly gripped her arm.

  “Look,” she gasped. Both George and Nancy turned in the direction of Bess’s gaze. Bess was pointing at a lean dark-haired guy who stood against the counter, talking to the cashier. The man had high cheekbones, and was very good-looking.

  Here goes Bess! Nancy thought, and smiled to herself.

  “Isn’t he the Lenape Native American rights activist whose picture was in the paper the other day? No way are there two of anyone that cute around!” Bess said, her eyes sparkling.

  George took a couple of steps in the direction of the counter, studied the guy for a minute, then turned to Bess. “You’re right,” she said. “He’s the one who works at the Native American museum on the other side of the town square. What was his name?”

  “Jim something!” Bess remembered. “I’m going to scope him out.” With that, Bess smoothed her hair, stopped to check her reflection in a mirror beside a display of baseball caps, then walked nonchalantly toward the counter.

  Nancy and George exchanged a knowing glance. “While she’s appreciating the local scenery, I’m going to see what’s new in swimming gear,” George said.

  “Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on Bess,” Nancy promised, casually making her way toward the counter. She didn’t want to cramp her friend’s style, but she too found something compelling about the guy. He had a focused, intense air about him. She wondered what he did at that museum.

  She moved close enough to overhear Bess’s conversation, but pretended to rifle through a rack of marked-down western-style cowboy shirts.

  Nancy could see the guy was definitely flirting back at Bess. He had straightened up at her approach and was fingering the strand of small beads that he wore around his neck. He looked interested in whatever Bess was saying. Nancy strained to get the gist of their conversation.

  “Wow, so you’re an assistant curator at the museum?” Bess said, her blue eyes wide with admiration.

  The guy smiled shyly. “Yeah. I got the job last January right after graduation from Penn State.”

  Nancy could practically hear the wheels inside Bess’s head turning, figuring out exactly how old this Jim person was. Probably twenty-one or twenty-two—which was fine with Bess, who often dated guys as old as twenty-five.

  “So, you like it around here?” Bess asked, tossing her hair back from her face.

  The guy shrugged. “What’s not to like? I’ve lived here forever. My whole family has lived up on the res. I don’t live there myself these days. I’ve got my own place just outside of town. Where are you from?”

  “The Midwest,” Bess told him. “River Heights, to be exact. My cousin and I are house-sitting a cottage for the month over on Moonlight Lake. Maybe you know the place. It’s on the north shore, and it used to be the guest cottage for the old Malone house.”

  “Yeah, I know the Malone house.” The guy’s expression darkened. “Right—I might have expected as much. Enjoy the cottage if you can.” He made it sound like a challenge. With that he tossed some coins on the counter, grabbed a donut off a tray on the counter, and stalked past Nancy toward the front door. As he passed Nancy she saw that he wore an intricately beaded bracelet similar to the necklace and had a hunting knife in a leather case attached to his belt.

  Nancy frowned as he slammed the screen door behind him. “What was that about?” she asked, walking up to Bess.

  The color in Bess’s cheeks had deepened from pink to an embarrassed red. “Beats me!” she said tightly. “Was he coming on to me or what? Then the next minute . . . it’s like I have the plague.”

  “Maybe he has a grudge against the people who used to own the Malone house,” Nancy suggested.

  “Whatever!” Bess said with a proud toss of her head. She grabbed a handful of gummy candies, put them on the scale, and paid the proprietor a dollar. “Let’s get out of here. I wanted to check out the junk store near here.”

  “I’m game,” said Nancy, who loved rummaging in secondhand shops with Bess. “Though I think we might lose George and Ned.”

  “What’s this about trying to lose us?” Ned said, walking up.

  “We’re not trying to lose you, but we’re about to head to another store,” Nancy explained as she and Bess turned to leave.

  “Hey, I’m in.” Ned shrugged. “I like this town. It’s interesting. Find anything?” he asked as George came over.

  “No, but the sales clerk told me to try the sports store at the other end of Main Street for the kind of goggles I want. He says they don’t keep inventory up at this time of the summer, and there’s been a run on the diving gear they do carry here. Meanwhile, I picked up some groceries for lunch and for tonight. Let me pay, then we’ll head off.” As George dug around in her purse, she asked as an afterthought, “So, was that him?”

  “Yeah, and he’s not much to brag about,” Bess grumbled. Then she gave George a smile. “So it’s a deal. We’ll go to the junk shop first, and then the sports store.”

  “That’s cool with me,” George said. “I heard they do a lot of salvage around here. A junk shop might be just the place to see some really cool old farm implements from the nineteen-twenties before the valley was flooded. Besides, t
he goggles can wait. I shouldn’t spend the money on them now, anyway.”

  George paid for the groceries, and a few minutes later the foursome was investigating Timothy’s Trash and Treasures. The short gravel drive leading to the old barn was filled with items ranging from rusted metal bedsteads to delicate porcelain washbasins and wood-framed mirrors.

  Inside, Nancy expected chaos. Instead, everything was in order. Books, magazines, and cases full of old maps were relegated to one area of the barn. Wooden crates full of housewares were stacked near the door. Glass cases displayed an enticing array of old jewelry, and garment racks bulged with retro clothes: sequined evening gowns from the Prohibition era hung next to scruffy furs.

  The display of old maps caught Nancy’s attention. While she was examining a framed Revolutionary War era chart, she overheard the owner talking with Bess.

  “That there is a real nice example of a nineteen-twenties toaster.”

  Nancy peered over Bess’s shoulder. Bess was holding a strange flat appliance that once was probably shiny metal but now was heavily rusted. It had a hinged flap that looked like a drop-down door on each side.

  “That looks familiar,” George said, joining them. “We have one of those back home in the attic. It’s a toaster that belonged to my great-grandmother. Except ours still has the cord.”

  “Well, this thing’s cord’s been long gone. Someone brought it in with a pile of other things that washed up from the lake.”

  “So, there really is salvage from the lake,” Ned said.

  “Not exactly salvage. Regular salvage operations are illegal at the moment, thanks to some court injunction in place until a suit between the landowners and the Lenape tribe is settled in court. But stuff that washes up on the shoreline”—the proprietor shrugged—“that’s finders keepers. By the way, I’m Tim.” He plunked himself down on a milk crate, seeming glad for the company. “There’s been a lot of stuff this season. More than usual. Guess it had to do with a spell of stormy weather this past spring. A guy comes in from time to time with cartons of junk like this.”