Make No Mistake

  Chapter

  One

  TALK ABOUT SLEAZY. Look at this headline,” Bess Marvin said indignantly, sliding Today’s Times across the kitchen table to Nancy Drew. “The poor guy’s dead, and all anyone can talk about is his money.”

  Nancy pushed her reddish blond hair back from her face and looked up distractedly from the table, which was covered with the components of her car’s tape deck. It kept eating her tapes, and she had taken it apart to see if she could fix it.

  Picking up the newspaper, the slender eighteen-year-old glanced at the headline Bess had mentioned. It ran in big letters across the front page of the paper: “Glover’s Millions Up for Grabs.”

  “It’s pretty pathetic,” she agreed after skimming the article. “That reporter was so busy writing about how big Mr. Glover’s estate is that he hardly even mentioned his heart attack or any of the many donations Mr. Glover made to charities.” She turned her attention back to the pile of components in front of her.

  “I bet everyone in River Heights will be at his funeral tomorrow,” said Bess, her blue eyes shining. “I mean, how often does a multimillionaire die without anyone to inherit his estate? His fortune’s worth over ten million dollars!”

  Nancy was fitting two tiny metal components together and pressing an even tinier metal spring between them. Without looking up, she said, “Oh, I’m sure there’ll be somebody. A man with wings of hospitals named after him isn’t going to forget to make a will. Now that I think of it, I remember my dad mentioned one.”

  Carson Drew, one of River Heights’s most prominent lawyers, had been Clayton Glover’s attorney. Nancy knew her father was involved with the settling of his estate, but she didn’t know any of the details. “He’ll probably leave most of his money to charity,” she told Bess, “and a nice bit to Mrs. Adams.”

  “Oh, the housekeeper, that’s right,” said Bess. “Remember how great it was when we used to spend time out at Glover’s Corners. You know, back when”—she paused uncertainly before finishing—“back when Matt was around.”

  Nancy and Bess had been in junior high when Matt Glover was reported missing in Colorado after an avalanche sent tons of snow tumbling into a mountain pass. He had been on a ski trip with four other boys in his freshman college class, Nancy remembered. Four bodies were discovered when the snows melted. Matt’s was never found. It had made headlines in all the major newspapers in the area.

  “I haven’t thought about Matt much lately. I used to think about him all the time after he disappeared,” Bess went on.

  Something about the wistful note in Bess’s voice made Nancy glance up to study her friend. There was a dreamy look in Bess’s blue eyes, and she was twisting her long blond hair absently in her fingers. “Disappeared?” Nancy repeated. “You almost sound as if you think he could still be alive.”

  “I know there’s no way he could be,” Bess said slowly. “But for a while after he disappeared, I used to have this kind of fantasy—you know, where he would reappear, just like that, and we’d go back to skating and stuff out at the Corners. It was just wishful thinking, but I half convinced myself that he really would come back.” She let out a little laugh. “I guess I have a pretty strong imagination.”

  Nancy smiled. “Well, it’s understandable. Even though we were five or six years younger than Matt, he invited us all to skate and hang out at Glover’s Corners. He was almost a hero to us.”

  “Almost? He was a hero, at least to me. Too bad it was only in my mind that he survived that avalanche.” Bess sighed, resting her chin on her hands. After a short silence, she said, “Speaking of heroes, how’s Ned?”

  A familiar warm glow spread through Nancy at the mention of her longtime boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. Ned attended Emerson College, which was several hours’ drive from River Heights.

  “He’s fine,” Nancy answered. “He might make it home for a visit next weekend. I hope he can. Since I’m not on a case, I’d be able to spend lots of time with him.”

  Nancy’s talent as a detective was well known in River Heights. She wasn’t a professional, but people often asked for her help in solving mysteries. Sometimes it seemed that her detective work took up all her time, though. She was always grateful for free time to be with Ned and her friends.

  Her stomach growled, and Nancy realized she was hungry. Giving up on her tape deck, she swept the components into a plastic bag, then went over to the kitchen cabinets.

  “Want some popcorn?”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Bess said, eyeing the jar Nancy pulled from the cabinet. “I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

  Nancy smiled. Bess was always trying to lose a few pounds, even though she was the only one who thought she needed to. Her curvy figure— now covered with hot pink leggings and an oversize pink- and white-striped sweater—was different from Nancy’s slender, taller build, but it suited Bess perfectly.

  Nancy held the popcorn out temptingly, and Bess frowned. “Pretty sneaky plan, Nan, trying to distract me from thinking about Matt with popcorn.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Well . . .” The frown was slowly replaced by a big grin. “You bet! I’ll get the popper,” she offered, going over to the cupboard. “Anyway, I read somewhere that popcorn has hardly any calories as long as you don’t add butter.”

  Soon they had a heaping bowl of fluffy, butterless popcorn on the table between them. Bess reached for a big handful, popping the kernels one at a time into her mouth.

  “I know it’s morbid,” she said, “but I keep thinking about how great it was when Matt was around and we used to go out to Glover’s Corners.”

  Nancy nodded. “It was fun.” In the winter, she remembered, there’d been ice skating on the pond behind the house. In the summer the pond was fringed with low-hanging willow trees, and Mrs. Adams, the housekeeper, would bring them ice-cold lemonade after they’d swum.

  “Poor Mrs. Adams,” Nancy said. “Now that Mr. Glover is gone, I wonder what she’ll do.”

  Rosemary Adams had been more than just a housekeeper to the Glovers. Since Matt’s mother had died when he was only ten, she’d been like a mother to him. It was hard to imagine Glover’s Corners without her.

  The girls looked up from their popcorn as Carson Drew came into the kitchen. Putting down his briefcase, he greeted Nancy and Bess, and Nancy saw at once that he was preoccupied. His forehead was creased, and his eyes were red looking.

  “Hi, Mr. Drew,” said Bess. She peered at her watch, then hopped up and began putting on her red down coat. “I guess I’d better go. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  “I might as well tell you both right now,” Carson said, not listening to Bess. “It’s going to be all over town soon enough.”

  Both girls looked at him expectantly.

  “I had a call from Rosemary Adams at Glover’s Corners,” he said. “A young man came to the door this afternoon.” Carson hesitated, almost as if he couldn’t continue with what he had to say.

  “What did he want?” Nancy prompted.

  “He said he was Matthew Glover, and Rosemary nearly fainted from the shock.”

  Nancy’s mouth fell open. She started to say something, but her words were drowned out by Bess’s excited cry.

  “You see,” she shouted, her face flushed pink. “I was right all along. Matt’s alive, and he’s come home!”

  Chapter

  Two

  NANCY GLANCED from Bess’s ecstatic face to Carson Drew’s serious one. “Could it really be Matt?” she asked her father. “Is it possible?”

  “Of course it’s possible,” Bess cut in impatiently.

  “I haven’t met him yet myself,” Carson said, rubbing his eyes, “but Mrs. Adams swears that he looks and acts like Matt. But she’s not sure he
is Matt. Apparently, he says he had amnesia after his skiing accident. It wasn’t until he saw Clayton Glover’s picture in the paper that he remembered who he was.” He shook his head and added, “As to whether or not he’s telling the truth, I don’t want to make any kind of judgment until I meet him.”

  “That’s a good idea, Dad. And I think we should do the same.” Nancy stared meaningfully at Bess. “Right, Bess?”

  “What? Oh—yeah, sure, Nan,” Bess said, but the dreamy expression on her face told Nancy that her friend had already made up her mind.

  • • •

  “You were right, Bess,” Nancy said in a low voice the following afternoon. “I think all of River Heights is here for Mr. Glover’s funeral.”

  Nancy, Bess, and Bess’s cousin George Fayne were entering the stone church where the service was to be held.

  “It is really packed,” George agreed. “I bet most of these people never even met Mr. Glover.” Tall and slim, with short dark hair, George squeezed in next to Bess and Nancy in a pew toward the rear of the church.

  Nancy peered toward the front of the church and found Rosemary Adams, dressed all in black. Nancy knew she must be in her sixties, but the silver-haired woman looked frailer than her years. Her face was dead white, and she was leaning heavily on Nancy’s father’s arm.

  “Where is he?” Bess asked, craning her neck to scan the church.

  Nancy didn’t have to ask who “he” was. And from the amount of whispering Nancy heard, she guessed a lot of other people were wondering where Matt Glover was, too.

  “Shh,” said George. “The service is starting.”

  It wasn’t until after the funeral that they got a glimpse of Matt Glover. Many of the mourners lingered outside the church, and Nancy, George, and Bess paused, too.

  Nancy was buttoning up her fleece-lined leather jacket when she heard Bess give a little shriek.

  “There he is!” she exclaimed. “Wow, he’s as great looking as ever!”

  Nancy and George turned to follow Bess’s gaze. Nancy spotted the tall, lanky guy at once. He was about twenty-three or -four, the age Matt would be, and he had the thick black hair and dark eyebrows Nancy remembered. He was approaching her father and Rosemary Adams, and Nancy saw his face light up with the wide grin that had been Matt’s trademark.

  “I’d die to have him look at me with that smile,” Bess said with a sigh. “That’s Matt, all right.”

  George rolled her eyes at her cousin. “That’s your purely objective opinion, right?” she teased. Taking another look at the guy, she added, “I don’t know. I don’t remember Matt’s shoulders being quite so broad.”

  “A man can change in five years,” Bess said defensively. “He was our age when he died. When he disappeared, I mean,” she corrected herself.

  Privately, Nancy agreed with Bess. A lot of things about a person could change over time. Even so, this guy looked incredibly like the Matt she remembered. If he was an impostor, he was a very good one.

  “They’re coming over,” Bess said excitedly.

  A moment later the three girls were saying hello to Carson Drew and Mrs. Adams. They tried not to stare too openly at the young man with Carson as he introduced him.

  “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Nancy,” Carson said. “Nancy, this is”—he hesitated before saying it—“Matthew Glover.”

  Nancy knew her father didn’t necessarily believe the stranger’s identity, but what else could he call him? Nancy realized that she, too, had already started to think of him as Matt, even though she wasn’t convinced he was the real Matt.

  Whoever he was, his smile was easy and unforced. Up close Nancy could see that he had Matt’s deep blue eyes and dark lashes. Bess was right about one thing—he was great looking!

  “Nancy Drew,” he said. “I knew you’d grow up to be beautiful.”

  For a second she thought he was trying to flirt with her. But then he smiled in a friendly, direct way. When Carson introduced him to Bess and George, he was just as charming with them.

  “It’s great to see you again,” Bess told Matt. Nancy could almost see stars in Bess’s eyes. “I always kept up a tiny hope that you’d come back.”

  “Thanks, Bess. That means a lot to me,” Matt told her as he flashed her one of his big smiles.

  Nancy had the distinct feeling that someone was watching them. Glancing over Matt’s shoulder, she met the intense gaze of a man who was staring at them from the steps of the church. He had short blond hair and was wearing a green parka with a hood. Nancy had the feeling that she’d seen him before.

  Then she remembered—he was an environmental activist. Giralda, that was his name. Tony Giralda. She had seen his face on posters for a campaign to clean up River Heights’s Muskoka River.

  Matt’s voice drew Nancy’s attention back to the conversation around her. “I’d like you all to come back to Glover’s Corners,” he was saying. “Rosemary has prepared enough food to feed an army.” He gazed at the housekeeper affectionately, but she didn’t return the look. She continued staring straight ahead, slightly dazed.

  “Poor Mrs. Adams,” Nancy said a few minutes later as she, Bess, and George climbed into Nancy’s blue Mustang.

  “What do you mean?” Bess asked. “She must be having one of the happiest days of her life. She was like a mother to Matt.”

  George stared at her cousin. “I didn’t exactly see her falling all over him,” she said dryly.

  “That’s because she’s too stunned,” Bess retorted.

  They swung out onto the main street and followed the stream of cars heading toward the outskirts of River Heights. Glover’s Corners lay between two heavily wooded areas and was bordered by a low brick wall. The entrance drive curved into the property from a tall, wrought-iron gate. The gate stood open, but the house itself was well hidden behind some gently rolling hills.

  “This is just as I remember it,” George said as Nancy turned onto the twisting drive.

  After rounding a few curves, they could see the house. Built of rose-colored brick, it was huge, with a main hall and two wings stretching out on either side of it. The wings curved slightly toward the front, circling a large garden. The pond was barely visible at the foot of a gentle slope behind the house. The old stables and the pond, Nancy remembered, were behind the house.

  Nancy parked behind the other cars and climbed out to crunch over the gravel path toward the front door. Other people were also making their way toward the house, and Nancy noticed that one of them was Tony Giralda. He was getting out of a battered-looking van a few cars in front of Nancy’s Mustang.

  “Pretty impressive,” George said, once they were inside. The entrance hall was huge. Directly in front of them was a stately mahogany staircase. There were two curved archways leading to the two wings of the house to the right and left of the hall.

  “The guests are all going this way,” Bess said, pointing to the left.

  “That’s right,” said Nancy. “As I remember, the other way leads to the more private areas.”

  There were several open doors along the hallway, and the girls peeked into them as they passed. There was a paneled library, a living room, and a smaller sitting room, all elegantly furnished. Most of the guests had collected in the formal dining room, so the girls went in there.

  “Mrs. Adams sure seems to be a lot happier now,” George commented.

  The housekeeper was rushing around, seeing that the big urns were full of coffee and tea, fussing over the plates of cold meats and bowls of salad. Nancy saw that the color had come back to her face, and there was even a smile on her lips now.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Nancy said, eyeing the long table that stretched along one wall. It was piled high with food.

  The girls got in line and took plates. Nancy was just spooning some pasta salad onto hers when a deep voice spoke up right behind her: “I can’t tell you how it feels to be back.”

  She turned to see Matt standing ther
e. “It must be kind of weird for you,” Nancy said. “How does it feel?”

  Matt gave a deep sigh. “Wonderful and strange at the same time. In some ways I feel as if I’ve never been away.”

  “Oh, but you have,” Nancy said. “Five years is a long time.” It was almost creepy to be talking to him again. If he really was Matt, she reminded herself.

  He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “I guess so. I just wish I could have figured out who I was before . . .” He broke off.

  Nancy gave him a sympathetic look. “Your father was a wonderful person,” she said sincerely. “We’ll all miss him.” After a pause she asked, “How did you find out who you were?”

  “I saw the obituary in the Chicago Clarion,” Matt explained. “There was a photo of my father, and as soon as I saw it I had to sit down. I knew he meant something to me, something very important. I read the obituary three times, and each time things came back more clearly. I don’t think you can imagine what it felt like, Nancy.”

  “Very few people could,” she admitted. “But then, very few people have amnesia.”

  “That’s what your father said. I was talking to him before you got here. He said he’s never run across a case in all the years he’s practiced law.”

  This might not be amnesia, either, Nancy thought, if he’s not the real Matt Glover. Almost instantly she felt aggravated with herself for raising the doubt so automatically. Lighten up, Drew, she scolded herself.

  “I’m starving,” Matt said, breaking into her thoughts. He filled his plate, then started to make himself a thick roast beef sandwich. As she watched him, Nancy suddenly remembered something.

  Everyone had always teased Matt about the huge mounds of mustard he added to just about everything. She paid close attention, holding her breath as he clamped the top piece of bread over the beef.

  Matt didn’t bite into it, though. Heading for the silver bowls filled with brown and yellow mustard, he opened his sandwich and plastered the beef with mustard the way the real Matt Glover would have.