031 Trouble in Tahiti

  Chapter One

  Nancy Drew peered into the tennis court through the chain-link fence, feeling the warmth of Tahiti's tropical sun on her face. Even though this was strictly a working vacation, she couldn't help but look forward to returning to wintry River Heights with a golden tan.

  On the court two women volleyed back and forth. One, a pretty girl of nineteen with long, raven black hair, walloped the ball over the net with a sharp backhand.

  Her opponent, a stunningly beautiful blond woman, rushed forward but was a split second too late. The ball bounced twice on the clay.

  The black-haired girl grinned. "That's the game, Krissy."

  Pouting, the blonde shouldered her racket. "Just wait till tomorrow, Bree Gordon."

  Nancy intercepted the black-haired girl at the gate. "Bree? I'm Nancy Drew."

  "Hi!" Bree shook Nancy's hand. "You made it. Did you have a nice flight to Papeete?"

  Nancy noticed how easily the difficult Tahitian word rolled off the girl's lips: Pah-pee-ay-tee.

  "A nice long flight." Nancy shook her head ruefully. "Eight hours from L.A.!"

  Bree nodded knowingly, then gestured at her companion. "Let me introduce you. This is my father's fiancee, Kristin Stromm. Krissy, this is Nancy Drew."

  As Nancy shook the blond woman's hand, she thought with an inward smile how jealous her star-struck friend Bess Marvin would be. Kristin Stromm was one of the most popular actresses in Hollywood.

  "Pleased to meet you." Kristin's speech betrayed the soft tones of her native Sweden. "Bree darling, I have to run. The masseur's expecting me in ten minutes."

  Bree arched her brows. "Okay. If I see Dad, I'll tell him you're in the body shop."

  Nancy noticed the mask of annoyance that suddenly descended upon the older woman's face.

  Kristin frowned. "Must you always have the last word?"

  "Hey, lighten up, Krissy. It was only a joke."

  "I don't think it was very amusing." Kristin pushed open the chain-link gate. "Perhaps I ought to have a word with your father."

  "Be my guest." Bree flashed a sassy smile. "Haere maru."

  After the older woman strode away, Nancy said politely, "Uh, perhaps I came at an awkward time."

  Bree's expression was apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into anything. It's just that sometimes things get a little tense between me and my future stepmother." She frowned, watching Kristin enter the lobby of the luxurious Hotel Taravao. "I wish I knew what Dad sees in her."

  Nancy tactfully tried to change the subject. "Bree, what was that you said a moment ago?"

  "Haere maru. It's Tahitian for 'take it easy.'" Bree led Nancy through the hotel's garden, alive with exotic flowers in bright colors. "The language is practically second nature to me. I used to live here every summer when I was younger. And, of course, Tayo taught me a lot."

  "Who's Tayo?" Nancy inquired.

  "Tayo Kapali." Bree's face clouded. "He's the reason I asked you to come."

  "What exactly is the problem? Let's go over it once. Okay?"

  Bree nodded. "At first I thought it was a joke. But when it happened three times . . ." After taking a deep breath, Bree went on. "Somebody keeps sending weird letters to my dorm."

  "Could you describe the letters?" Nancy asked, prompting her.

  "They're crazy!" Bree's pretty face tightened angrily. "Always the same little remark. 'You'd be surprised if you knew what I know about your mother's death.'"

  Nancy experienced a shiver of disgust. What a cruel thing to write. No wonder Bree was so upset.

  "Anyway, the person's dead wrong," Bree added. "There was nothing suspicious about my mother's death. If anything, it was the most publicized boating accident in the history of the Pacific."

  Nancy's mind drifted back twenty-four hours to the time of the two phone calls she had received—one from an old client, Alice Faulkner, who was Bree's godmother, the other from Bree herself. Mrs. Faulkner had given her a few of the details, but Nancy hadn't needed much prompting to recall the accident that had claimed one of Hollywood's biggest stars. "Was that five years ago?"

  "Yeah." Bree pushed open the hotel's glass doors. "My parents owned a boat back then. The Southwind, a. custom-built motor sailer. She went down in a tropical storm with my mother aboard. There was a crewman aboard, too, a guy named Pierre Panchaud." Bree swallowed hard. Unhappy memories brought tears to her brown eyes.

  "How did it happen?" Nancy asked softly.

  "The Southwind lost her anchor during the storm and drifted into the main shipping channel. A tramp freighter rammed her. M-Mother died in the wreck." Bree hastily wiped at her eye. "The local maritime board investigation declared it a simple, unavoidable accident." She took a deep breath. "Gosh, look at me. You'd think I'd be over it by now."

  "You never really get over a tragedy like that, Bree." Nancy touched the girl's shoulder sympathetically. "I know. I lost my mother when I was three."

  "I'm sorry," Bree murmured.

  Nancy changed the subject as Bree led her past a bank of public elevators to a smaller one marked Private. "Let's concentrate on this letter writer. Tell me, where were the anonymous letters mailed from?"

  "That's what's really strange. They all came from Tahiti." Bree halted at the door to the elevator and slipped a key out of her pocket. After unlocking the door, she continued. "I haven't been here in four years. All my old friends are grown up and gone. Nobody even knew I was going to UCLA."

  "Where does Tayo come into it?" Nancy asked, searching for any connection.

  "Tayo used to be the Southwind's chief mate. He taught me to scuba dive." The girls stepped inside, and Bree pushed the only button. "Tayo knows practically everybody on the island. I

  figured he could help me track down the weirdo." A worried look crossed her face. "But I can't find Tayo anywhere. He didn't return my calls, and no one I asked had seen him. When I went to his house, it was all boarded up, as if he'd left a long time ago. I started to investigate myself, but I got a creepy feeling, as if somebody was watching me. I got scared."

  The elevator doors opened suddenly, exposing a plush penthouse suite. Tropical plants hung from metal flowerpots. Stylish teak furniture filled the room. Huge windows offered panoramic views of Papeete's sky-blue harbor and the jungly neighboring island of Moorea.

  "Bree, could I have a look at one of those letters?" Nancy asked.

  "Sure. This way." Bree beckoned with her hand.

  Nancy followed her into a spacious bedroom. A four-poster bed, covered with a lightweight quilt, dominated the peach-colored room. An empty plastic shoe tree stood beside the highly polished dresser.

  Bree opened the dresser's top drawer and pulled out three air mail envelopes.

  "Here. Except for Auntie Alice, I haven't told anyone about them." Bree handed them to Nancy, then seated herself on the bed. "I didn't want to upset Dad and Krissy, especially with their wedding coming up."

  Nancy flipped through them, noting the Tahiti postmarks and French stamps. Then she withdrew one of the letters and unfolded it.

  The paper was lined notebook stuff, available in any stationery store. It was the rigid lettering that perked Nancy's interest. She frowned thoughtfully.

  "What is it?" asked Bree.

  "Whoever wrote these took the trouble to disguise their handwriting. The letters are formed with a pen and ruler. There's no way a handwriting expert could even tell who wrote them," Nancy said, her mind racing.

  Bree's face fell. "Then they're no help."

  "Actually, they're a big help." Nancy's dimpled smile came quick to reassure Bree. "They tell me that the writer is someone you know. He or she was afraid you'd recognize the handwriting. That explains the ruler."

  Turnin
g to return the letters to Bree, Nancy spied a sudden movement underneath the bedspread. She froze. Something narrow was gliding along, moving steadily toward Bree.

  Nancy thrust out her hand. "Don't move!"

  The girl blinked. "What?"

  "Keep still," Nancy whispered, rounding the edge of the bed. Her hand gripped the coverlet. "When I throw this back, hop off the bed—fast!"

  Puzzled, Bree nodded.

  Nancy whispered, "One—two—"

  "Three!" Heart thumping, Nancy ripped the coverlet away. A hiss filled the air.

  A gleaming black snake lay on the mattress. Bree gasped and leaped off the bed.

  Baring its fangs, the snake rose on its coils, ready to strike.

  And Nancy was standing right in front of it!

  Chapter Two

  Hisssss! Fangs dripping venom, the snake weaved from side to side.

  Nancy swallowed hard. Slowly she moved her head to the left. The snake's wedge-shaped head darted in that direction. Seeing her chance, Nancy lashed out with her other hand and seized the deadly serpent right behind its head.

  A deft flick of her wrist sent it hurtling into the corner. The snake rolled on the rug, stunned. Nancy grabbed the shoe tree and used the prongs to pin the snake to the carpet.

  "Call hotel security, Bree."

  Thick plastic hooks kept the snake trapped as it wriggled helplessly, wrapping itself into a coil.

  Nancy knew she was safe, but she'd be more pleased to be on the safe side of glass observing the slippery reptile in a zoo.

  Bree rushed to the telephone, grabbed the receiver, and tapped the O button. "This is Bree Gordon in the penthouse. There's a snake loose up here! Help us!"

  Nancy kept up the pressure on the shoe tree. The snake's beady eyes gleamed; its flailing tail just missed her arm.

  Suddenly Nancy heard a woman's voice behind her.

  "Bree?"

  Turning her head, Nancy saw an attractive chestnut-haired woman in a crisp lilac linen suit standing in the doorway. "What's going on here?"

  The newcomer's gaze traveled from Bree to Nancy to the snake. Then her face went white, her eyes rolled upward, and she slid to the carpet like a dress off a hanger.

  Bree hung up the phone. "Oh, Manda!"

  "I hope you can take care of her." Nancy glanced at the writhing snake. "I'm a little occupied at the moment."

  Bree knelt beside the unconscious woman. Two minutes later the hotel manager and two khaki-clad security guards bustled into the suite. Nancy was grateful when one of them took over the snake-guarding duty from her. The other slipped a snare's noose around the snake's neck and toted it away.

  Nancy helped Bree and the manager move Manda onto the bed. The manager patted her wrist repeatedly, uttering apologies in high-speed French.

  Nancy soaked a facecloth in the bathroom. "Is she a friend of yours, Bree?"

  "Not quite. Manda's practically family."

  Bree explained that Amanda Withers was her father's executive secretary. She had worked for film director Brian Gordon since Bree was in junior high school.

  Returning to the bedroom, Nancy delicately placed the facecloth on Manda's brow. The woman moaned softly. Her eyes fluttered open.

  "Bree?" Her face fearful, Manda sat up and embraced the girl. "Bree, are you all right? That snake—"

  "I'm fine, Manda." Bree tried to disengage herself from Manda's frantic hug.

  "Are you certain?" Seated on the edge of the bed, Manda squeezed Bree's arms and shoulders as an anxious mother would examine a bruised child.

  Nancy thought Bree looked terribly embarrassed by Manda's performance.

  "Look, I'm fine," Bree said, standing abruptly. "Why don't you go with the manager? The house doctor can have a look at you."

  "Please, madame, this way." The manager put out his arm to guide Manda to the elevator.

  After their departure Bree shook her head wryly. "Manda Mother Hen." A crooked smile

  wrinkled her mouth. "Honestly, that woman thinks I'm still eleven years old."

  Nancy said nothing, but she had already arrived at the same obvious conclusion. Manda was trying very hard to be Bree's substitute mother—perhaps a bit too hard.

  Bree rubbed her arms briskly. "Ugh! When I think about that snake! . . ."

  "Bree, I think somebody just tried to kill you," Nancy said, keeping her voice low. "Snakes don't ride elevators and hide under bedspreads. Somebody must have put it there!"

  "But why?"

  "It's possible that the letter writer knows you're after him," Nancy added.

  "How can that be? I didn't come up with a single clue. I couldn't even find Tayo."

  "Maybe your search made him nervous," Nancy said thoughtfully. "Tell me what you've done so far."

  "Well. . ." Bree chewed her thumbnail. "I came across something while I was trying to find Tayo. A friend of mine saw Tayo's boat two years ago. Only it didn't belong to Tayo anymore. I was planning to check the records to see who owns it."

  "If you don't mind, I'd like to pursue that line of inquiry myself." Inspiration made Nancy's eyes glimmer. "What was the name of Tayo's boat?"

  "The Rapanui." She watched Nancy head for the elevator. "Where are you going?"

  Pressing the button, Nancy said, "Bree, I need you to talk to the concierge to see if you can casually find out who came up to the suite today. All right?"

  Bree nodded. "No problem," she said.

  "Good. Now, can you tell me where they keep the town's official records?"

  "Government center, I guess. The gendarmerie is right downtown, just off the Boulevard Pomare."

  "Thanks! I'll be back."

  After picking up her rental-car keys at the front desk, Nancy went to her own suite and changed her travel clothes for a white tank top and a pair of mint green shorts. Boat clothes, she decided, would keep her cool and comfortable in Tahiti's sweltering climate.

  Nancy made certain that her maroon Renault had a road map and a first-aid kit in the glove compartment. Then, after a hasty survey of the map, she drove downtown.

  The government center was right on Papeete's sparkling waterfront. Sea birds shrieked at passing yachts. Gentle waves rolled ashore on a beach of black volcanic sand. Nancy was grateful for the refreshing offshore breeze.

  The French tricolor rippled from the flagpole. Nancy remembered that Tahiti and her neighboring islands were part of French Polynesia, a self-governing island territory of France.

  A wizened old man with a gap-toothed grin directed Nancy to the maritime office. She hoped her years of French at River Heights High would be enough to make herself understood.

  Fortunately, the clerk had no trouble understanding Nancy.

  "I'm afraid there is no longer an active safety permit for the Rapanui, "he said, showing Nancy an official document. "The boat was sold for scrap two years ago."

  "Was it sold by Tayo Kapali?" she asked.

  "No, mademoiselle, that is not the name on the bill of sale."

  That's odd, Nancy mused. Why hadn't Tayo sold the boat?

  "Could you tell me who bought the boat, monsieur?"

  "It was purchased by Ruau's scrap yard. Just down the beach."

  "Thank you." Flashing him a grateful smile, Nancy picked up her shoulder bag and strode away, eager to pursue her first lead.

  Leaving her Renault in the parking lot, Nancy joined the flow of pedestrians heading for the beach. Her gaze encompassed all the strikingly different people walking the sands: tourists in sunglasses and straw hats, Frenchmen in knit shirts and faded jeans, breathtakingly lovely Ta-hitian girls in cool-looking sundresses.

  Ruau's scrap yard was just beyond the main boat basin, a field of wooden hulls upended on top of trestles. An old-fashioned steam crane crouched beside the wharves, a plume of smoke drifting from its stack, its engine grumbling ceaselessly.

  A workman pointed out the owner, Arii Ruau. Nancy saw a rawboned Tahitian in his early forties, with a tough, shrewd expression.


  "Monsieur Ruau, do you remember a boat named the Rapanui?" Nancy inquired after she had introduced herself.

  "Why, yes, I bought it two years ago." Ruau made an impatient motion with his right hand. "I wanted to refit it, but the bottom was too far gone. So I scrapped the Rapanui. A pity, eh?"

  "Do you know a man named Tayo Kapali?"

  Ruau frowned, then shook his head. "No, the name is not familiar."

  "Tayo used to own the Rapanui four years ago," Nancy added.

  "That's possible." Ruau shrugged. "Boats change hands quite often here in Tahiti. I bought it from Temeharo."

  "Who's he?" she asked, trying not to sound too curious.

  "A fisherman. He lives on the south side of the island. I can tell you where to find him."

  "I'd appreciate that."

  Nancy listened attentively as the owner gave her directions to Temeharo's village. As he was talking, she heard the crane's engine suddenly pick up speed.

  Nancy was about to ask him to raise his voice when something caught her eye. She spied a long, thin shadow moving ominously toward them over the sand.

  In a flash she realized what it was—the crane's upright boom.

  Nancy's gaze lifted, and her suspicion was confirmed. The long steel-girdered boom had drifted into position above their heads. With a metallic creak, it came to a halt.

  The rust-dappled scoop, brimming with scrap, swung lazily back and forth.

  The scoop's steel hinges groaned suddenly. The noise prickled the hairs on the back of Nancy's neck.

  The scoop's jaws were opening!

  Nancy's eyes blinked wide.

  Its hinges screaming, the scoop opened and let loose its load of jagged steel scrap.

  Chapter Three

  "Look out!" Nancy screamed.

  Grabbing Ruau's shoulders, she shoved him backward. They hit the sand together. Still holding on, Nancy rolled with him beneath an overturned whaleboat.

  Steel fragments bombarded the sand. A handful of shrapnel hammered the boat above their heads. When the noise had stopped, Nancy lay still for a moment, shaken by the close call. If it hadn't been for the whaleboat's hull. . . Nancy shook her head slowly. After a minute she peeked out. The empty scoop spun at the end of its cable. Steel scrap littered the sand.