Never Say Die

  Chapter

  One

  SHADING HER EYES with her hand, Nancy Drew stood in the middle of the Summitville Velodrome and turned in a circle. Around her, junior cyclists from all over the world were practicing on the outdoor concrete track, which had just been built in a small town near River Heights.

  “All right! Look at them go!” said Ned Nickerson, her boyfriend, who was standing next to her. “What do you think, Nancy?”

  “Umm,” Nancy mumbled.

  “Ned, how can you sound so excited?” Nancy’s friend Bess Marvin asked. “Track cycling is terrifying. Right, Nan?”

  “Umm,” she said.

  Ned chuckled. “Hey, Nancy, aren’t you listening to us?”

  “Huh?” Nancy asked, suddenly turning toward him.

  “I said—oh, never mind. What’s got into you? You’ve been off in the ozone ever since we got here.”

  “Sorry,” Nancy said. “I guess my mind was on other things.”

  “Like what? A new case?”

  Smiling, Nancy shook her head. Being an amateur private detective kept her pretty busy, so it was a natural assumption for him to make.

  “No, it’s something else,” she said, turning back to the track.

  The truth was, she was thinking about one of the cyclists. Squinting against the bright summer sun, she scanned the track—there! The rider was just speeding into a steeply banked turn.

  “Nancy . . .” Ned said persistently.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nancy answered. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

  “About what?” Bess asked curiously. As she turned to look at her friend, a strand of her long straw-blond hair fell forward over her right shoulder.

  Before Nancy could reply, the rider she was watching swung off the track and headed toward them. She slowed down and was finally stopped a few feet from Nancy by a tall blond boy. He had a clipboard in one hand, and a stopwatch dangled from his neck.

  “Bummer,” Nancy heard George Fayne remark, as she looked at the time on the watch with a scowl. “I’m probably the slowest rider out there.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Jon Berntsen, her boyfriend and coach. “Far from it.”

  “Well, I feel slow. Check out all those disk-wheel bikes, Jon! Mine’s an antique compared to them. I’m not going to win one single event,” she moaned.

  Nancy frowned. George was obsessed with winning every event in the Summitville Junior Classic. But why?

  George had always been competitive. She was more dedicated to sports than anyone Nancy knew. But ever since George had taken up cycling a few months before, it was as if she had become a machine. She trained constantly. She was pushing herself to the limit—and probably beyond. What was George trying to prove? Nancy wondered.

  “George, are those bikes really faster than yours?” Nancy asked, walking the few steps over to her friend.

  “You bet,” George answered. “They’re a lot more aerodynamic.”

  “Because the wheels have those disks instead of spokes?”

  “Uh-huh. And also because of the way they’re designed. See how they slope forward? The front wheel is smaller. Well, that angles you lower, so your back is flatter. You create less resistance to the wind.”

  “I get it,” Nancy said, nodding. That made sense.

  But it wasn’t fair. If the other girls had better equipment, that meant they had an advantage over George. Nancy couldn’t blame George for being upset—especially after all the training she had done.

  “If only I had enough money,” George said, climbing off her old spoke-wheel model. “I’d love to buy a disk-wheel bike.”

  “What about the money you earned?” Bess asked her cousin.

  “It’s gone. And anyway, it wouldn’t have been enough. Those things are expensive.”

  Ned frowned. “What about your sponsor? Why don’t you ask him to get you one?”

  “Steven Lloyd? I couldn’t,” George answered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s already done so much. I mean, aside from building this velodrome in the first place, he paid for my skin suit, my entry fee—even Jon’s coaching.”

  Nancy understood George’s feelings. It was hard to ask for favors when someone had already been very generous. Of course, Steven Lloyd could afford to buy a hundred disk-wheel bikes if he wanted them. His software company was a huge success. Still, whether to ask was George’s decision. Nancy wasn’t going to interfere.

  At least George had Jon, Nancy thought. He was the perfect coach for her. He was an experienced athlete—a former Olympic skier—so he not only knew how to win, but he knew how to handle setbacks, too.

  Thinking back, Nancy remembered the ski vacation on which George and Jon had first met. Back then, Jon had not been the easygoing guy he was now. He had been withdrawn and bitter, believing himself to be responsible for the death of another skier. But Nancy had proved that it wasn’t true in a case she privately called Murder on Ice. Now Jon was much happier and more optimistic.

  “Speaking of your sponsor, here he is!” Jon said just then.

  Nancy’s attention snapped back to the group as she saw a handsome, sandy-haired man in his late twenties walking up to them. Nancy knew Steven Lloyd because he was a client of her father’s law firm.

  Another man was with him. He was tall—even taller than Ned—with red hair and dark green eyes. Nancy didn’t know him, but because of the suit he was wearing she guessed that he was an associate of Steven Lloyd’s. He was carrying a disk-wheel bike, which he set down carefully when they reached the group.

  “Hello, George. Hi, everyone.” Steven nodded toward the other man. “This is my executive assistant, Peter Cooper.”

  “Please call me Peter,” he said, smiling.

  When the introductions were through, Steven patted the bike’s seat. “Well, George, what do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” she said enviously. “It’s a Bussetti, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. One of the finest track bikes made.”

  “I’d love to have one like that.” George sighed.

  “You do.”

  “What?”

  Steven smiled. “It’s yours for the duration of the Classic. I had it flown over from Europe by air express.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I’m serious. Why don’t you try it out?”

  George didn’t have to be asked twice. Thanking Steven profusely, she took the bike from Peter and wheeled it out to the track’s apron. A moment later she was off, moving slowly at first, then gaining momentum from the heavy disk wheels.

  Nancy was amazed. By the first turn George was moving very fast. By the second she was practically flying.

  “Amazing,” Ned said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t think disk wheels would make that much of a difference.”

  Steven shrugged. “They do, there’s the proof. You know,” he said, “I think we’re looking at the next World Junior Champion.”

  “George is lucky to have such a generous sponsor,” Ned said.

  “She deserves the best,” Steven said. “I was just afraid the bike wouldn’t get here in time.”

  “Was there a shipping problem?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes. In fact, we couldn’t get it through customs until late last night.”

  “Last night! That’s cutting it a little close, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not kidding,” Steven said with a laugh. “And that was only the beginning. Once we got it, we discovered that it wasn’t assembled.”

  “You mean you put it together yourself?”

  “Not me. Peter did,” Steven explained. “He spent all night in my office with his cycling tools.”

  “I guess you’re interested in cycling,” Nancy said, tu
rning to Peter.

  He didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the track.

  “Peter?” Nancy repeated.

  “Hmm. Oh, I’ve been cycling most of my life,” Peter said, abruptly turning back to the group. “Mostly road cycling, though,” he added, his eyes drifting back to the track. He was watching George, Nancy realized.

  A few minutes later George slowed down and pulled into the infield. Everyone crowded around to congratulate her.

  “This bike is terrific,” George declared. “There’s just one problem—the seat’s too low. It needs to be raised a few inches.”

  “No problem,” Peter said, springing forward. “I’ll just take the bike out to the parking lot. The tools are in my car.”

  Jon pulled a wrench from his pocket. “Don’t bother. I’ll get it.”

  “It’s no trouble. Really. Here, let me have it—” Peter started to take the bike, but Jon held on.

  “This will only take a second—see?” he said. In a flash he had loosened the seat post. Raising the seat, he clamped the bolt down again. “There. All done.”

  George climbed back on, and moments later she returned to the track to continue warming up. Everyone looked happy—everyone but Peter, Nancy noticed. He was scowling.

  Steven turned to his assistant. “Is the official time clock working yet?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ll get right on it.”

  “I’ve given Peter a leave of absence from the office so he can run the Classic for me,” Steven explained.

  “Yes, you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the next six days,” Peter said. “Along with my other duties, I’m trying to line up some interviews for George and the other contestants.”

  “You are? Fantastic!” Bess exclaimed.

  “Publicity for George and the others is publicity for the company,” he said smoothly. “Well, I guess I’d better see about the official clock.” He turned and left.

  Steven left a minute later as the officials began to clear the track for the first event—the qualifying round of the Women’s 3,000-Meter Individual Pursuit.

  George was scheduled for the third heat. The race was similar to a chase, except that the two riders started on opposite sides of the track. If one caught the other, she won. If neither got caught, the winner was the one who rode three thousand meters in the fastest time.

  Nancy’s heart was pounding as George waited on the back straightaway for her start. Pursuit was a brutal event, and George’s opponent looked strong.

  “Ladies, attention!” an official called over the loudspeaker. A second later the starting pistol fired. They were off.

  “Go, George!” Nancy shouted.

  “Come on, Fayne!” Bess hollered.

  The other girl shot forward. She was a strong rider, and by the end of the first lap she was a second and a half ahead. But her lead didn’t last. Slowly but surely, George began to whittle it down.

  “Come on, George!” Ned yelled.

  “Go, George!” Bess roared.

  With just three laps to go, George moved ahead. Her opponent put on a burst of speed to try to catch up, but George was faster. As she finished, Nancy let out a whoop. George had won!

  Well-wishers crowded around as George steered off the track. Beaming, she whipped off her teardrop-shaped helmet and tossed it to Bess.

  “All riiight!” Jon gave George a quick hug.

  But not everyone was excited about George’s victory. As Nancy scanned the crowd, she noticed a girl with close-cropped white-blond hair who was wearing an orange jersey. She was glaring at George with hatred in her eyes.

  “Who’s that?” Nancy asked Jon in a whisper, nodding toward the girl.

  He glanced over. “Who? Oh, that’s Monique Vandervoort, from Holland.”

  “What do you know about her? She sure doesn’t look too friendly.”

  “She’s the current World Junior Champion. She also held the record in this event. George just broke it.”

  Nancy nodded. That explained it. Monique had some hot new competition, and she probably didn’t like it one bit.

  A moment later the Dutch girl spun around and stalked toward the exit tunnel that ran under the track to the outside. Nancy turned to George, who was bubbling enthusiastically about her new bike.

  “Nothing’s going to stop me now. Except maybe this heat. Anyone want anything to drink?” she asked, handing her bike to Jon. “I’m going to get something.”

  No one else was thirsty. Shrugging, George walked toward the exit tunnel. A minute later she was out of the velodrome and out of sight.

  Nancy turned back to watch the next heat. When it was over, the spectators applauded, and another heat began. Nancy was beginning to wonder what was keeping George. Surely it didn’t take this long to get a drink.

  Just then Ned grabbed her arm. “Nancy, where’s that smoke coming from?”

  “Smoke?” Glancing around, she saw the cloud of thick black smoke rising outside, just behind the stands. At the same moment she heard someone shout, “Fire! There’s a fire!”

  George! Was she all right? All at once a sick feeling hit Nancy in the stomach. Without a word, she broke into a run.

  Chapter

  Two

  NANCY WAS THE first person to reach the tent where refreshments were being sold. The tent had collapsed, and one side was in flames. From inside a hysterical voice was screaming for help.

  George!

  “Hold on, I’m coming!” Nancy shouted.

  Wildly, she glanced around. Where was everyone? she wondered. What had happened to the security guards she’d noticed when they arrived? Why weren’t they nearby?

  But she didn’t have time to worry. Lifting the canvas, she found the entrance flap, ducked under, and began to push toward George’s voice. looked around. George was sitting nearby with Jon. “What happened?” Nancy asked.

  George shook her head and coughed. “I don’t know. I was waiting for my drink, when all of a sudden the tent came down on top of me. Then I smelled smoke and started to yell.”

  “Was anyone else in there?” Nancy asked, glancing back toward the fire.

  “No. A couple of race officials were in there getting sandwiches, but they left. There was a woman handing out sodas, too, but she went out to get some ice.”

  “Thank goodness,” Nancy said, wiping her forehead on the sleeve of her shirt. “At least no one was hurt.”

  The tent was now completely wrapped in flames. People were tossing buckets of water on it, but Nancy could see that it was hopeless. Clouds of thick black smoke billowed up into the sunny summer sky.

  For a moment she just watched the spectacle. A large crowd was forming as cyclists and coaches poured from the exit tunnel. Then she turned back to George. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine now,” George replied. She was on her feet and no longer coughing. “Thanks for going in to get me.”

  “Yes, you saved her life,” Jon added.

  “All in a day’s work,” Nancy said, joking. Her tone was light, but her heart was not. That sure was a close one.

  Suddenly a panicky look crossed George’s face. “My bike!”

  Ned shook his head in disbelief. “George, you’re amazing. You almost got killed a minute ago.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I just want to make sure the bike’s all right.”

  “Don’t worry. Bess is inside guarding it,” he told her, shaking his head.

  That’s George, Nancy thought. Only George would worry more about a bike than about herself.

  The sound of sirens interrupted her thoughts. The Summitville Fire Department had just arrived. Spotting the chief, she went over and reported all she had seen. When she was through, she suggested that he list the fire’s cause as “suspicious.”

  “Too soon to say what it was,” the chief barked in response. “Could have been anything. A cigarette, maybe.”

  “I doubt that,” Nancy replied. “Cigarette fires smolder before they burn. This one spread very q
uickly.”

  “Did you see it start?” the chief asked, studying her.

  “No, but my friend was inside the tent. She said everything was fine until it collapsed.”

  “The fire must have burned through the support ropes, causing the collapse,” the chief said.

  “No, you don’t understand. She said the tent fell down, and then the fire started.”

  The chief glared at her. “Are you saying it was arson?”

  “I don’t know. But I believe the fire could have been set deliberately,” Nancy said.

  “Young lady, arson is a serious crime,” the chief said, raising his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t go around even speculating unless I were—”

  “Excuse me, Chief.” A fireman wearing a grave expression broke in. “I thought you’d like to see this. We found it stashed in that garbage can over there.”

  He held out a five-gallon gasoline can, the type motorists carry for emergencies. The chief shook it. It was empty.

  “Hmm. Looks like you may have been right after all,” the chief told Nancy. “By the way, what’s your name?”

  “Nancy Drew.”

  “Hmm. Mine’s Mike McShane. Well, let’s have a look around, shall we?”

  Together Nancy and Chief McShane walked around the charred remains of the tent, which was lying soaked with water. At first Nancy saw nothing, but then suddenly she stopped.

  “Chief, look at the support ropes. The ones on the other side of the tent are still tied to their stakes.”

  “So?”

  “The ones on the opposite side aren’t. The knots are untied.”

  The chief peered down at the stakes. “You’re right,” he said. “Someone did untie them.”

  “That explains how the tent collapsed.”

  What it didn’t explain, of course, was who had set the fire. Or why. Nancy examined the wreckage for any further clue but found none. She looked at the gas can, but it was made of rough plastic. Lifting fingerprints would be impossible. Nancy knew she was stuck. Anyone could be responsible for the fire, anyone at all.

  After saying goodbye to the chief, she went back into the velodrome. George was pulling on her warm-up jacket, getting ready to go home.

  “Any news?” Ned asked Nancy then.