False Pretenses by Carolyn Keene

Author:Carolyn Keene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

Chapter

Nine

THE INSTANT the whistling noise began Nancy had started to react. She switched off the ignition, hit the release button on her seat belt, and yanked at the door handle. As the door swung open, she was already diving out and rolling toward the rear of the car, away from the engine. She sprang to her feet and backed up.

David came running over. “Are you all right?” he demanded, stepping between her and the Mustang and putting his hands on her shoulders. “What happened?”

The gravel in the parking lot had skinned Nancy’s palms. She stepped back from David and tucked each of her hands under the opposite arm and pressed hard. That helped a little to ease the pain.

“I’m okay,” she said breathlessly. “But my car—”

Over David’s shoulder she could see that the cloud of white smoke was almost extinguished. One of the cooks, in white apron and high white chef’s hat, had come running carrying a bright red fire extinguisher. Behind him, other members of the restaurant staff had stepped outside to watch or help.

Nancy went to meet him and said, “It’s all right, thanks. I think it was just somebody’s idea of a practical joke.”

“Are you sure, miss?” he asked in a faint European accent. “A car fire is no joke. I had a Fiat once—”

“I’m sure,” Nancy said, breaking in on his story. “But thanks again.”

He seemed almost disappointed to be robbed of his chance to be a hero. As the cook returned to the kitchen, David joined Nancy. “A joke?” he said. “How do you know? I think we should call a garage to come get your car.”

“I doubt if that’s necessary,” Nancy replied. “Someone wired one of these so-called car bombs to a friend’s car last year. They’re pretty startling, but they don’t do any real damage to a car.

“I should check just the same,” she added, going back to the car and leaning in to pull the hood latch. “But I’m almost positive that’s what it is.”

When the hood popped open, the smell reminded Nancy of Fourth of July picnics minus the hot dogs and burgers.

David pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “There it is,” he said, aiming the light at a blackened cardboard tube that dangled from the distributor. He leaned over and detached the thin wires, then studied it. “I guess when you turn on the ignition, the current sets it off. Cute.”

“I’ll take that,” Nancy said, reaching for the car bomb. “It could be a clue.”

“Oh, sorry,” David said. “I got my fingerprints all over it.”

Nancy borrowed his light and shone it around the engine compartment, then closed the hood. “It looks okay,” she reported.

David frowned. “I don’t like the feel of this. It could just as easily have been a real bomb. I wonder if you ought to drop out of this investigation.”

“Sorry,” Nancy said. “There’s no way I’m going to allow myself to be scared off. Too much is at stake—such as my father’s reputation.”

David nodded as if he had expected her answer.

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