Ashley Amberton turned off the television set. Then, as Nancy and George watched from the darkened office, a triumphant smile spread across her face. She reached in her desk and poured herself a drink. Then she took out a file folder and pulled out a newspaper picture of Nancy. She held it over an ashtray on her desk and lit it with a cigarette lighter.
“Ah-ha, Nancy Drew!” she said, gloating as the flame spread across Nancy’s face and the paper disintegrated into ash. “Who’s the best mind of crime? It’s no longer you, Nancy Drew—it’s Ashley Amberton, blackmailer, kidnapper, and murderer extraordinaire!” And she lifted the glass in a toast to herself.
Just then Nancy opened the door and stepped into the office.
“Sorry, Ashley,” she said calmly. “But it appears that your little plan didn’t work so well after all.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Nancy? Nancy Drew? But I thought—” Ashley Amberton stood up behind her desk and swallowed hard, her face turning a pasty white. “But the television broadcast just said that the helicopter crashed! It said that you were all dead!” She pulled off her glasses, obviously fighting for control. “I was simply thunderstruck. How could such a horrible, horrible thing have happened?”
“It happened,” Nancy said calmly, “because you loosened the oil drain plug and disconnected the warning light.” She smiled slightly. “I have to hand it to you, Ashley. You thought of everything. If the copter had gone down before we found George, we’d be out of the way and there’d be plenty of time to get rid of George. And if it went down with all of us aboard . . .” She shrugged. “Either way, you’d come out a winner.”
“A winner?” Ms. Amberton pulled herself up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why, I was shocked to hear—”
“It’s no use, Ashley,” Nancy said, raising her voice. “I know all about it. I know that you blackmailed the Cherbourg employees. It was so easy for you to find out their secrets, wasn’t it? You simply poked around in their personnel files, didn’t you? And you were also the one who poisoned Monique when you took flowers to her the day before she fell ill. You also stole the notepaper and the liquid nitrogen from Dr. Dandridge’s office when you took candy to his staff.”
Ms. Amberton smiled. “You have a very lively imagination, my dear,” she said smoothly. “No wonder you’ve made such a name for yourself as a detective. Are you finished yet?”
“No, there’s more,” Nancy told her. “Much more.” She pointed to the charred remains of the newspaper photo in the ashtray. “You made up the phony headline to scare me, and you arranged for the passes to get us into the stadium. And of course, it was you who phoned Jacques Olivier and told him to run us down.”
Ms. Amberton frowned. “Me? What makes you think that?”
Nancy smiled. “You knew we’d be at the plaza, watching Emile Dandridge drop the money into the trash can. Remember? I phoned you and told you we were going to be there.” She shook her head. “It was so obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t see it right away. You were the only one, besides the doctor, who knew we’d be there. In fact, you were the only person in Montreal who knew every move we made.”
“So you’ve figured it all out,” Ms. Amberton asked archly. “What made you suspect me? It wasn’t just that I knew where you were or you’d have figured this out right away.”
“True. Your question about the damage to the stove when I told you about the liquid nitrogen spill was the first thing. I didn’t think about it at the time, though. It was only this evening, when everything began to fall into place, that I remembered our conversation.”
“Yes, that was rather an undisciplined remark,” Ms. Amberton admitted. “I realized immediately that you hadn’t told me where in the kitchen the spill had occurred. Was there anything else?”
“Your bandaged hand,” Nancy replied. “The hand that George bit. And, of course, the keys. The kidnapper couldn’t have gotten into the locked warehouse to hide George—unless she had the key, too. Also the police never arrived to help us.”