in front of the camera.
“Action,” Andrew hollered, and immediately
everyone on deck was quiet.
Nancy held the shield steady, trying to make sure
Selena's eyes weren't shadowed. Facing each other,
Mary Read and Anne Bonny drew their weapons.
“Fire the cannons!” Mary yelled, brandishing a
musket.
“Prepare for battle!” Anne yelled, a sword in her
hand.
“Surrender or die!” Captain Barnet yelled as he
swung onto the deck.
Mary pointed her musket at him. “Never!” she
growled, firing.
A boom filled the air and something hit the
reflective shield, the blow hurtling Nancy backward.
She slammed against the railing, the shield still in her
hands.
Screaming hysterically, Selena dropped the smoking
pistol.
“Cut!” Andrew cried over the din. Jumping off the
stool, he ran over. “What in the world happened?”
“This gun thing really went off!” Selena screeched.
Stunned, Nancy stared at the shield still clutched in
both hands. A hole had been shot clean through it.
When she raised it up again, she realized how close the
shot had come to her head.
“Nancy, arc you all right?” George came over.
Dropping his shield, Eli bent and picked up the
pistol. “That's impossible,” he said. “The guns I bought
are from a toy store.”
Daniel took the weapon from him. “Not this pistol.
R's an export reproduction.”
All eyes turned to Selena. “Where did you get it?”
Daniel asked.
“Eli gave it to me,” Selena said, huge tears running
down her cheeks. Nancy had expected Joseph Mascelli
to rush over to comfort her. Instead, the reporter was
holding out the mike of a tape recorder, trying to get
every word.
“Eli,” Andrew said in a stern voice. “What's going
on?”
Eli shook his head, a confused expression on his
face. “I handed her a fake pistol for the scene,” he
declared. “The same kind I gave to Karl.”
Nancy glanced toward Karl Kidd. The actor's face
was as gray as his beard. Daniel took Karl's pistol and
examined it. “This one is a cheap fake. Someone must
have switched Selena's. We should call the police.”
Andrew groaned. “Not the police. They'll be here all
day interrogating us again.”
“Yeah, but think of the publicity,” Janie said, her
tone sarcastic. “In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Ms.
Ramirez pulled this little stunt to get on the front cover
of some magazine.”
“How dare you say that?” Selena protested, her tears
quickly drying up. “That is so wrong.”
“Oh, really?” Planting her hands on her hips, Janie
stared at Joseph, who was getting ready to take a
picture.
Daniel reached out and snatched the camera from
him. “Enough! You've already picked our bones clean.”
Mascelli shot him a haughty look. “I've just started.”
Pulling out his pad, he went over to Karl. He flipped
back the pages and began to read. “How's this sound
for tomorrow's headlines: Is the Swift Adventure
Haunted—With Bad Luck?' ” he read. “ Actor Karl
Kidd was seen leaving the Lucky Lady, a yacht
notorious for holding big-stakes card games. Only,
sources tell me, Kidd has not been lucky. In fact, he
owes so much money, the Big Man's looking for him.' ”
“Shut up, Mascelli,” Karl growled, and before
anyone could stop him, he punched the reporter in the
jaw. The blow sent Mascelli sprawling to the deck.
“Joe!” Selena rushed over and knelt beside him.
“Are you all right?”
Sitting up, the reporter rubbed his jaw. “You'll pay
for this, Kidd.”
“I'm already paying. Now get off this ship.”
Still rubbing his jaw, Mascelli stood, Selena helping
him up, and stalked off.
“What was he talking about, Karl?” Janie asked.
Karl pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through
his hair. “Mascelli's right. I got into a card game I
shouldn't have with guys way out of my league. They
bankrolled me some money. I lost big, and now they
want their money back—with interest.” He gave Nancy
a defeated look. “I'm sorry, Nancy, it's obvious that
pistol shot was meant for me—as a warning.”
“I'm just glad no one was hurt,” Nancy said, knowing
he was wrong about the shot being intended for him.
There was no way some card shark's goon could have
sneaked onboard the ship and replaced the pistols.
Nancy didn't contradict Karl because she didn't
want to draw attention to what she figured had really
happened. Chance Curran or his accomplice had
replaced the pistol, and the shot had been meant for
Nancy.
12. A Chance Encounter
If the pistol shot had been meant for her, there was
only one person who could have set it up, Nancy
thought—Harold! He'd instructed her where to stand
so she'd be in Selena's line of fire when the actress
aimed at Karl.
Nancy angrily scanned the boat for him. Everybody
was milling about, discussing the near-miss. Everybody
but Harold. Where had he gone? Nancy wondered.
Then she spotted him on the other side of the
wheel, fiddling with his sound equipment. Fists
clenched by her sides, Nancy marched toward him.
She caught herself. She wanted whoever was
Chance to be arrested and thrown in jail, which meant
she had to be patient. She had to wait for the police to
match the fingerprints on Harold's cup to Chance
Curran's before she was sure he was the culprit.
Still, Detective Weller had said he hoped Chance
would get cocky enough to make a mistake. Nancy
decided she just might push him in that direction.
When Harold saw her coming, he glanced up. “Gee,
Nancy, I'm really sorry about what happened.”
“Well, you did kind of set me up,” Nancy said,
keeping her tone light. “Thank goodness Selena's a
lousy shot or Karl or I could've been on our way to the
hospital.”
“Really.” Harold glanced back down at his
equipment. Nancy wondered how he could act so
innocent and unconcerned. He should be the one
getting the acting award, not Selena.
“It's funny, though, how accidents keep happening
onboard,” Nancy continued. “In fact, the whole
haunted ship thing started with you losing your balance
and falling overboard.”
Harold frowned. “True. Except that was just an
accident.”
“Really?” Nancy drew out the word dramatically.
Harold stopped tinkering and gave her a puzzled
look. “Must have been. I mean, why would someone
want to whack me in the head with a rope and knock
me off the ship?”
“Good question.” Nancy tapped her lip. “I wa
s
wondering the same thing a minute ago—why would
someone want to shoot me?”
“I thought the shot was meant for Karl.”
“Was it?” Nancy asked.
“All right, people, let's get ready for take two!” she
heard Andrew call behind her. Turning on her heels,
Nancy left Harold.
Nancy wished she could get to a phone and call
Weller. She wanted to get the receipts to him. She had
to find out about the fingerprints.
“Nancy, you mark the scene this time,” Andrew said.
“We'll let Janie hold the reflective shield.”
“You mean you don't mind if I get shot?” Janie
protested.
“The pistol is not loaded this time,” Daniel assured
her. “I checked it twice, and so did Harold.”
“I'll check it, too,” Nancy said quickly. When Daniel
handed her the pistol, she could tell instantly that it
was the fake. “What did you do with the replica? I
really do think the police should see it.”
“I locked it in the Great Cabin,” Andrew said. “I'll
call that Weller guy when we're finished shooting. He
can come get it.”
The next three takes went without a hitch. When
Andrew called for a break, Nancy went over to George.
“I need to get to a phone to call Weller myself,” she
whispered. “I think I know who Chance Curran is!”
George's eyes widened. “Who?”
Nancy put her finger to her lips. “I'll tell you later.”
“I remember there's a phone outside the aquarium,”
George whispered. “Good luck.”
Nancy took off at a jog. When she reached the
phone, she dug in her pocket for change. Weller wasn't
in his office, but the dispatcher said she'd page him.
For five minutes Nancy paced in front of the phone.
She couldn't wait to tell Weller she'd found Curran.
Finally, it rang. “Detective Weller? Did you find out
about the fingerprints? Because I think—” Nancy was
about to tell him who the thief was, when Weller cut
in, “Got two of them back this morning. No matches.”
“Which two?” Nancy asked.
“According to the prints, Harold Oates and Andrew
Wagner are not Chance Curran. Now, what were you
about to tell me?”
Nancy felt deflated. She'd been so sure about
Harold. “Nothing. I mean, there is something.” She
told him about the pistol shot. “If he's telling the truth,
Karl Kidd's in big trouble.”
“You tell Karl to get in here and talk to the detective
who's been trying to shut those card games down,” he
told her.
“It might mean Karl is Chance. You haven't ruled
him out with the prints, right? What if he robbed the
rooms to help pay his debt?”
“Possible,” Weller agreed. “The thief stole more
jewelry and watches than cash. If Kidd's trying to fence
the stuff, it may take him a while before he can pay
back those goons. And they're not very patient.”
Nancy also told Weller about the receipts.
“Good. I'll have an officer pick them up right now.
Where are you?”
She gave him her location, then hung up. Sitting
dejectedly on the curb, she opened the bag of receipts.
When she sorted through them, she noted that there
were receipts from everybody except Karl and Selena.
“That's why you have dinner with men,” the actress
had told her. “So you never have to pay for a meal.”
Nancy looked over Eli's receipts, checking dates and
times. There was no receipt for the night before, which
meant he could have been the assailant in the
aquarium. She noticed a receipt from the night of the
first burglary, but it was for seven o'clock. That meant
Eli could still be their thief.
And what about Karl? Was he Curran? Somehow,
Nancy couldn't picture the real Chance Curran
hanging around long enough to get threatened and
shot at by a card shark.
Which brought her back to the same question—why
was Curran sticking around? Jumping up, she dialed
Weller again. “He's planning another heist,” she said.
“Maybe a bigger one. That's why he and his accomplice
are still in Baltimore.”
“Could be,” Weller agreed. “I'll check around, see if
the hotel has anything unusual going on that could be
bringing in more money. Why don't I meet you later
and go over everything with you?”
“We'll be shooting all morning and afternoon. What
about meeting at the hotel lobby around seven?”
Nancy suggested.
“Good idea, I'll see you at seven.”
A minute later a uniformed officer drove up in a
marked police car. Nancy handed over the receipts,
then hurried back to the boat. She knew the break
would be over. She hoped no one had noticed she'd
been gone.
“Celebration dinner seven o'clock at the Seaside
Restaurant,” Andrew announced to the tired cast and
crew. It was late afternoon and filming had finally
ended for the day.
“What are we celebrating?” George asked.
Andrew gave everybody a grin. “New backers for the
film. Not only will it be on educational TV, but News
Time Productions wants to release it on video!”
Nancy cheered along with the others. Then, taking
George aside, she whispered, “I can't go to the dinner.
You'll have to tell everybody I already have a date.”
“With who?”
to mind.
“You do? Where are you going?”
“I don't really have a date with Scott,” Nancy
whispered. “I'm meeting Detective Weller. He's going
over all the receipts and should have more print
matches by then. We need to compare notes.”
“Got it,” George said. “Too bad, though—you'll be
missing a fun dinner.”
Six o'clock that evening, after George had left,
Nancy sat down in the hotel dining room, making sure
she was seated in Scott's area. She wanted to grab a
sandwich as well as clue him in that he was her excuse
for not going to the dinner. She figured he wouldn't
mind going along with the ruse.
“I've had enough of the Wagners and their film,”
Nancy told Scott. “I hope you didn't mind if I told
them I was going to be with you.”
“Not at all. In fact, why don't we make it a real
date?” He grinned shyly, and Nancy realized maybe
she'd had another motive for using him as an excuse.
“We could do something fun, around nine, when I
get off work?” he suggested.
“I'd love to,” Nancy said, and she meant it. The
dining room was crowded, and by the time her chicken
salad sandwich came, it was almost seven.
“Maybe I'd better get this to go,” Nancy said to
Scott. “Uh, I want to do some shopping before our
date.”
“No problem.” He removed the plate, tripping over
her purse, which she'd set by her chair. The sandwich
went flying, landing on the floor in a soggy heap.
He smiled sheepishly. “I'll get them to make another
one—pronto.”
“Leave the bill,” Nancy said. She finished her drink,
then left money on the bill tray. When Scott didn't
return with the sandwich, Nancy went to look for him.
She didn't want to be late for Weller.
She headed to the kitchen. There was a round glass
window in the closed door. Peeking in, she saw Scott
wrapping what looked like her sandwich. When he was
finished, he tossed it in the air and, in one swift motion,
caught it behind his back in a paper bag.
Nancy's eyes widened in astonishment. Minutes ago
Scott had tripped over her purse. Now he was deftly
juggling her dinner.
He turned toward the door, and Nancy ducked
away, hurrying over to a row of potted plants. Was the
clumsy guy routine for her benefit? She remembered
all the times he'd threatened to knock over glasses and
tip over dishes. And if so, why would he try to fool her?
“Scott!” She waved when he came out the kitchen
door. “I left money on the table for the bill—and a tip,”
she told him.
“You can give me a tip later,” he teased.
“Meet you in the lobby around nine?” she asked.
“Righto.” He handed her the bag. “Enjoy. I made
sure the chef prepared it specially for you.”
“Thanks.” Nancy waved goodbye, then sped from
the restaurant.
When she reached the lobby, there was no sign of
Weller. “Ms. Drew?” One of the clerks called her over
to the check-in desk. “You received this message from
a Detective Jackson Weller.” He handed her a slip of
paper.
Nancy unfolded it. “Got some important info on our
cat burglar,” the message said. “Meet me on the wharf
in front of Harborplace.”
Yes! Weller must have made a match on the prints.
Excited, Nancy pushed through the revolving doors.
The night air was cool and refreshing. As she walked to
the wharf, she munched on half her sandwich,
suddenly starved.
The walkway in front of Harborplace was crowded
with Thursday night revelers. A foot-tapping trio
played bluegrass music. Two mimes, their faces
painted white, pantomimed climbing ladders.
While she waited, Nancy ate the last bite of
sandwich, then threw the bag and wrapper away.
Finished, she glanced around, wondering why Weller