“Sounds like a winner to me,” Ned said enthusiastically. He carefully refolded the notes and put them in his pocket. “Especially if there’s dancing,” he added. “Maybe I’ll even get to put my arms around my favorite girl for a while.” Ned flashed Nancy a grin.
“Sure,” she said a little absently. She was already preoccupied with thoughts of her interview with Annette LeBeau the next morning. How would Annette feel, being the target of somebody else’s questions for a change?
But after an hour at Chez Soda, Ned’s arms tight around her and his lips against her cheek, Nancy had nearly forgotten Annette—and the case, too. And George had discovered that she could get along fine in Montreal without speaking French.
“All I have to know how to say is oui,” she said when she got back to the table after a slow dance with a cute French guy.
Nancy shook her head, laughing. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you that saying oui too much could get you into trouble?”
George flushed. “Yes, Mom,” she said teasingly.
Chuckling, Ned reached out to squeeze Nancy’s hand. “How about another dance?”
And Nancy was delighted to say, “Oui.”
At the television studio the next day, Nancy met Annette LeBeau. The newswoman was in her dressing room, getting ready to film an interview with a suburban chief of police on the problem of crime in his area. She was just putting the final touches on her makeup.
“So, you’re Nancy Drew,” she said, turning away from the mirror to look at Nancy curiously. “I’ve heard about you. You’re supposed to be some sort of hotshot supersleuth, aren’t you?”
Nancy smiled. “I’ve had a few successes,” she said modestly.
Annette turned back to the mirror and began to brush on mascara with expert strokes. “So, what do you want with me?” she asked. “Ashley Amberton said it was urgent.”
“It is,” Nancy said. She sat down at the makeup table so she could see Annette’s face in the mirror. “It’s about blackmail.”
Annette’s hand jerked, and she smudged the black mascara on her cheek. But she recovered immediately. “Blackmail?” she asked in an innocent voice as she wiped away the smear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Nancy replied casually. “I’m talking about you and Dutch Medina.”
Annette swiveled her chair around, her eyes narrowed. “Listen,” she hissed, “if you think you can come in here and threaten me—”
“I’m not threatening you,” Nancy assured her. “I want to help, if I can.” She took out the letter Becky Evans had given her. “I think this was meant for you.”
Annette paled under her makeup as she read the letter. “How did you get this?”
“The blackmailer sent it to one of his other victims by mistake,” Nancy said. She leaned forward. “How did you help Dutch Medina?”
Annette’s face became a mask, with her mouth pressed into a tight line. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said in a hard voice.
Nancy stood up. “No,” she replied pleasantly. “You don’t have to say a word to me.” She picked up her blazer, which she had put on the back of her chair. “You can go on making blackmail payments until the money runs out. Or you can go to the police and tell them—”
“But I can’t,” Annette burst out. Her composure was beginning to unravel. “I can’t go to the police! If I did, everyone would find out that I was involved with Medina—that I faked his alibi!”
“So that’s what the blackmailer meant when he said that you kept Medina out of jail?”
The woman slumped in her chair. “It was a long time ago, more than ten years. The prosecutor couldn’t convict him because I swore that Dutch and I were together when a shooting occurred. I was such a fool! I was so sure he was innocent!”
“And now you can’t afford to have people know about this,” Nancy went on.
Annette bit her lip. “It would mean the end of my career.” She turned to Nancy, her eyes pleading. “Listen, Nancy Drew, you’ve got to catch this blackmailer. He’s making my life absolutely miserable—and not just my life, either!”