Hot Tracks, Page 4

  They stopped at a pizzeria downtown. Bess and Dirk kept up a steady stream of talk while they ate, but Nancy hardly spoke. She was glad Bess and Dirk were hitting it off, but something about their encounter at the warehouse was still bothering her.

  Someone had to have warned the guy driving the carrier that they were coming. Only one person that she could think of knew that they were headed there, and that person was Dirk. After Bess called him, he could easily have phoned his contacts at the chop shop—if it was him. Nancy couldn’t figure out why he would have stayed in the car, though.

  “Hey. Can you guys drop me off at Harry’s Garage?” Dirk asked as they left the pizzeria. “I need to pick up some parts. My brother works there, so he can give me a ride home.”

  “Sure,” Nancy agreed. The garage was just a few blocks away. When they got there, Dirk climbed out on Bess’s side. After he’d shut the door, he leaned his arms on her open window.

  “Thanks for the wild ride, Nancy,” he said, his green eyes twinkling. “I guess I’ll see you girls tomorrow at the track?”

  Bess grinned at him. “You got it.”

  As Nancy drove away, Bess turned to her with dreamy, glassy eyes. “Wow. What a guy,” she said. “Aren’t you glad we invited him?”

  “Yeah. I like Dirk, too,” Nancy agreed. Taking a deep breath, she added, “That’s what makes this hard to bring up.”

  Bess straightened up in her seat and questioned Nancy, “What are you talking about?”

  “Somebody tipped off that guy in the carrier that we were coming,” Nancy said quietly.

  “But who? Nobody knew except—” Bess’s face blanched white. “No. No way,” she protested. “Dirk in cahoots with car thieves?”

  “It makes sense. He’s an expert driver, and he knows cars. Guys who race cars always need parts.”

  Bess shook her head. “I still don’t believe Dirk would work with criminals just to get parts. I mean, you don’t have any proof.”

  “That is what we need,” Nancy agreed. “Proof. We need to catch someone stealing a car and follow him to the right warehouse. Then the police will have everything they need to move in.”

  “Oh, right. As if some thief is going to let us hang around while he steals a car,” Bess said, rolling her eyes.

  Nancy grinned at Bess. “Actually, that’s exactly what I have in mind,” she said. “Only the thief won’t know we’re there.”

  • • •

  At nine o’clock that night, Nancy picked Bess up at her house.

  Before Bess got into the car, she gestured to her clothes. “What do you think, Nan? Black shirt, black pants, black socks and shoes—the height of fashion,” she joked.

  “It is if you’re tracking down car thieves,” said Nancy, laughing. She, too, was dressed all in black, and she wore a dark ski cap to cover her reddish blond hair.

  “I thought Dirk said you shouldn’t be driving your car,” Bess said as Nancy headed the Mustang toward the riverfront area.

  Nancy patted the dashboard. “It’s going into the shop tomorrow. Alignment isn’t a terrible problem, so we’re safe for now. I’m not sure how we’re going to get around after this, though.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Bess said. “The insurance company’s paying for a rental car that I can drive for thirty days—or until we recover the Camaro,” she added confidently. “My dad picked it up after work tonight, but he had to go to a meeting so I haven’t seen it yet. For once I’ll get to chauffeur you around.”

  Ten minutes later the girls were driving down the winding road that went from the highway to the riverfront.

  “What now?” Bess asked. “How do you know where the car thieves are going to hit?”

  “We have to think like one,” Nancy replied. “Officer Jackson said two cars were stolen from the main parking lot of the riverfront renovation. Then your Camaro was taken from the restaurant lot. The way I figure it, that leaves the lot at the nightclub, the Scene. I bet it’s crowded on a Thursday night, too.”

  Bess nodded. “So we’re going to stake out the Scene’s parking lot?”

  “Right.” Nancy drove past the nightclub, which was perched next to the Riverside on a cliff overlooking the river. The parking lot was across the street from it.

  “Officer Jackson was right when she said the lots here aren’t well lit,” Bess commented as Nancy pulled her car into the lot. There was only one streetlight at the entrance. Most of the cars were just black silhouettes in the darkness.

  “Tonight that will be in our favor,” Nancy reminded Bess.

  Nancy found a spot next to a sedan in the middle of the lot. “If we hunch down between my car and the sedan, we should be able to see anyone coming or going. We’ll leave the door propped open in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

  The overhead light winked on as Bess opened her door to get out. She giggled and reached up to remove the plastic cover and unscrew the bulb. “Better take this out. Nothing like advertising that we’re here.”

  The two girls sat on the gravel next to the Mustang. Nancy kept a look out by the rear fender, which faced the back part of the lot and a dark side street. Bess’s spot by the front tire gave her a good view of the entrance to the Scene.

  For two hours they watched as laughing couples and groups parked their cars and went into the nightclub. Nancy was beginning to wonder if they were wasting their time when Bess said in a low voice, “Hey, look.”

  Nancy joined Bess at the front of the car in time to see a man and woman leaving the nightclub. The woman was laughing and holding on to the man’s arm. When the woman passed under the single streetlight, Nancy recognized Kitty Lambert’s long, brown hair.

  “She sure seems to get around,” Bess whispered.

  “The guy looks familiar, too,” Nancy whispered back.

  “He looks like Dirk!” Bess said angrily.

  “It’s not him, though. He’s too tall,” Nancy cut in. “I bet it’s Dirk’s brother. Dirk said something about Kitty having a thing for his older brother, remember?”

  “Here they come.” Bess and Nancy huddled close to the Mustang as Kitty and her date turned down the row opposite the Mustang and stopped at a shiny new Firebird. A few minutes later the car pulled out.

  A police car cruised past soon after that. “That’s the second police car we’ve seen,” Nancy mentioned. “They probably patrol every hour.”

  She moved back to the rear end of the car, so she could keep an eye on the rear of the lot. It was the darkest area. A thief could sneak into the lot, hot-wire a car, and drive it onto the side street and out of sight before anyone saw him.

  “How much longer?” Bess whispered twenty minutes later. “My back has a cramp in it, and my right leg’s asleep. I may never walk again.”

  “We can’t give up now,” Nancy said quietly. “Besides, if we don’t stick it out tonight, we’ll just have to do this again tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow!” Bess groaned. “I hope—”

  “Shhh.” Nancy held a finger to her lips. Was that the crunch of gravel she’d heard?

  The two girls fell silent, but there was no sound. Then very faintly Nancy heard it again. Crunch. Crunch. Someone was creeping into the lot, very slowly, trying not to make a sound.

  Nancy peered around the rear fender of the Mustang. Silhouetted against the night sky was a tall figure wearing a baseball cap and a long coat. It was much too warm to have on a coat.

  Nancy put her finger to her lips and gestured for Bess to stay put. The figure was too tall and broad shouldered to be a woman, Nancy decided. She watched him stealthily make his way to a red sports car two rows down from the Mustang.

  The person stopped at the driver’s window of the sports car. After glancing around, he reached under his coat and pulled out a flat metal rod. It was a slim jim, a tool used to break the lock of a car, Nancy realized.

  They’d found their thief! Now they just had to follow him and his stolen car to the right warehouse, call t
he police, and bingo! The auto theft ring would be out of commission.

  Nancy silently gestured for Bess to slip into the car.

  Nodding, Bess started to creep toward the open door. Suddenly she stumbled and pitched face first into the gravel. With a muffled cry, she threw her arms out to catch herself.

  Nancy whirled her head around to check on the thief. She hoped he hadn’t heard!

  Her heart sank when she saw that the figure had paused and was turned in her direction now. He tucked the slim jim under his coat, then took off for the side street.

  “Bess, call the police!” Nancy hissed over her shoulder as she started after the guy. Keeping low, she jogged down the aisle until she was even with him. She tried to get a look at him, but a row of cars was between them, and in the dark she couldn’t make out his face.

  Suddenly he began to run. He must have heard her! Sprinting, Nancy raced through the row of cars that separated them and grabbed at the flying tails of his coat. The person whipped around, and something metal fell to the gravel with a clang.

  Before Nancy could get a better grip on him, blinding car lights from the side street flashed in her face.

  “Police! Freeze!” commanded an amplified voice.

  Nancy froze, but the thief took off. Nancy saw a red ponytail escape from under his baseball cap before he disappeared down the side street.

  “Stop him! He tried to steal a car,” Nancy yelled, pointing after the fleeing figure. Someone burst from the police cruiser and ran after the thief.

  The next thing Nancy knew, someone had grabbed her arms, twisted them behind her, and snapped on handcuffs.

  “Don’t move,” a deep voice growled. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of car theft.”

  Chapter

  Six

  NANCY WHIRLED AROUND to see B. D. Hawkins glaring at her. “Let me go. I’m not the thief,” she protested.

  “Sure,” he scoffed. “You’ve got the right to remain—”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Bess yelled angrily, hurrying across the parking lot toward Nancy and the detective. “That’s my friend!”

  When she got to Nancy, Bess reached over and whipped off Nancy’s ski cap so that her friend’s reddish blond hair tumbled to her shoulders.

  “Remember me, Nancy Drew?” Nancy said.

  The detective’s mouth fell open in surprise. He quickly unlocked the cuffs as the squad car pulled up.

  Raul Quinones got out, his face purple with rage. “What are you two doing here?” he demanded, glaring first at Bess and then at Nancy.

  Before either of them could reply, Stan Powderly jogged into the lot from the side street. He was breathing hard. “I couldn’t catch him,” he said. “Heard a car drive off, though.”

  “Did you see the car?” Quinones asked.

  Powderly shook his head.

  “You let him get away?” Bess said in disbelief. “After all we went through!”

  “After all you went through?” B. D. Hawkins sputtered. “We’ve been parked in that side street for an hour. We would have nailed the guy if you two hadn’t butted in.”

  Nancy glared back at him. “We’ve been waiting around for two hours. We almost had him when you decided to jump me. So don’t blame us.”

  “How was I supposed to know it was you? We usually don’t share stakeouts with kids dressed like army commandos,” Hawkins scoffed.

  “Enough,” Detective Quinones said sharply. “We all made mistakes, and because of it the real thief got away. Now we’re back to square one.”

  “Not really,” Nancy put in. “When I grabbed the guy’s coat, something fell from it.” Bending down, she hunted around in the gravel. “There,” she said, pointing under a nearby car. “It’s the slim jim. I could see the thief wasn’t wearing gloves, so I bet you’ll be able to lift prints from it.”

  Quinones pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. After wrapping the fabric around the tip of the slim jim, he carefully picked it up. Nancy saw several greasy marks on the metal.

  “Get an evidence bag, B.D.,” Quinones instructed. He turned to Nancy and Bess. “I want you two in my office first thing in the morning for a complete report on what happened tonight.”

  “Shouldn’t we go now?” Bess asked eagerly. “Maybe Nancy can find the guy in the mug books.”

  Raul wearily rubbed his eyes. “That’ll take hours, and it’s almost midnight already. Be there at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.”

  Nancy watched as Detective Hawkins carefully bagged the slim jim, then sealed it with evidence tape. When he noticed her watching, he stopped writing on the tape. “Good night,” he said firmly.

  As Nancy and Bess walked back to the Mustang, Bess said, “I’m really sorry about falling, Nan. My leg went to sleep, and when I tried to move, it just buckled under me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nancy told her. “I’m hoping the police will get prints from the slim jim. If the guy has a record, the police should be able to nail him—and maybe find your car.”

  Bess smiled. “Let’s hope so.”

  • • •

  Friday morning Nancy was tapping her foot impatiently as she waited in front of the garage where she’d just dropped off her car. Bess was supposed to have picked her up already. It was twenty after eight, and the police expected them at the station at eight-thirty.

  “Nancy!”

  Nancy watched as Bess pulled up in an old silver convertible. “What do you think of these wheels?” Bess asked.

  “Pretty nice,” Nancy said, hopping in on the passenger side. “It had better get us to the police station fast.”

  “No problem.” Bess shifted into first and stepped on the gas. The car jerked forward, then promptly stalled out.

  Flashing Nancy a confident grin, Bess turned the key again. “Don’t worry. I’m not used to driving a stick shift, but I’ll get the hang of it. My dad gave me a few lessons this morning.”

  The car made a grinding noise, coughed, then sputtered to life. “See?” Bess checked behind her, then pulled into traffic. She shifted into second, and the car shuddered once before jerking ahead.

  “Uh, Bess, why did you get a stick shift?”

  Bess grinned. “I told my dad to rent the sportiest model he could find. You know, to take my mind off the Camaro. I didn’t know the sportiest one would also be the oldest—and the hardest to drive. So far it’s been fun, though.”

  Nancy couldn’t help laughing. “Let’s just hope we make it to the police station in one piece!”

  By the time they arrived at the station, it was twenty to nine. The two girls hurried up to the auto theft office, where they found the three detectives in the outer cubicle. From the sober look on Detective Quinones’s face, Nancy guessed that something was very wrong.

  “Sorry we’re late,” she apologized.

  “We had car trouble,” Bess added, giggling.

  Raul Quinones got right to business. “Let’s start with the description of the guy you tried to take on last night,” he said to Nancy. “Stan’s got the mug books.”

  “First, could I explain why we were there?” Nancy asked. She briefly told them about the incident at the warehouse. “We think the car carrier went after us because we were getting close to the chop shop.”

  Quinones shot Stan Powderly a stern look. “I thought you said you didn’t find anything when you checked out that area.”

  “I didn’t,” he said defensively. He pulled a notepad from his back pocket. “I made a sketch of the area and noted what business is in each building.”

  Nancy pointed out the building where they’d zoomed up the ramp. “R. H. Shipping,” she said, reading the name Powderly had penciled in. “All of these shipping places sound as if they’d provide good cover. They could move cars or parts in and out, and no one would know.”

  Powderly gave her a dubious look. “I talked to someone at every place,” he assured Detective Quinones. “They seemed legit to me.”

  “Chec
k them out again,” Quinones snapped at the two detectives. “We may be overlooking something. Now, about the guy we almost caught in the parking lot.”

  Nancy described the man. “I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy we saw driving Bess’s car. Even though it was dark both times, the red ponytail was pretty unique.”

  B. D. Hawkins listened with a bored expression on his face. It was obvious to Nancy that he didn’t think much of her opinions. “The lab should have some prints for us by now,” he said when she was finished. “I’ll go ask.”

  He left, and Detective Quinones retreated to his cubicle. For the next two hours Nancy and Bess paged through the mug books with Stan. Nancy didn’t see a single picture of the guy with the red ponytail.

  Several times Detective Quinones stalked in and out of the office. When they were done, Nancy and Bess went over to his cubicle. He was staring at the computer screen on his desk, a scowl on his face.

  “Sorry, but the guy I saw last night isn’t in the mug books,” Nancy told him, poking her head in.

  He stared at Nancy for a moment, as if gauging something. Then he stood up and said, “That’s okay. Uh, come on in a second. I want to tell Bess her VIN.” He gestured for the two girls to enter his office, then said to Stan, “Why don’t you return those mug books.”

  “What’s a VIN?” Bess asked Detective Quinones when he turned back to the girls.

  “Your Vehicle Identification Number,” Quinones answered, distracted. “All cars have it etched on the dashboard, the door, and the engine block. It’s on your registration and in the computer. That’s how we can identify a stolen car—or what’s left of it.”

  As he spoke, Quinones again stepped into the other cubicle. Sticking his head into the hall, he glanced back and forth. What was going on? Nancy wondered. He was acting like a caged animal.

  When he came back he brought two chairs from the outer cubicle and gestured for Nancy and Bess to sit down. Nancy hoped this wasn’t going to be bad news about Bess’s car.

  Detective Quinones sat down at his desk. Without meeting the girls’ eyes, he cleared his throat and began to speak.