Fear had dampened her palms. She scrubbed one, then the other against her thighs to dry them. Her hands ached from her tight grip on the steering wheel. Drawing a deep breath to calm herself, Nancy settled down to outdrive her opponent.
“Hold on,” she told Bess, who had braced her arms against the dashboard.
Keeping an eye on traffic in the lane on her left, Nancy darted into it the first chance she had. As she knew it would, the van followed. A tractor-trailer that had been behind the van in the right lane sped up. Nancy glanced up quickly to see the driver curiously peering over at them from the cab of his huge rig.
A plan began to take shape in her mind. “Bess, open your window and wave to that truck driver. Hurry!”
Bess followed orders, her blond hair whipping in the wind. “Uh—are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked in a nervous quaver.
The trucker edged alongside, and Nancy smiled up at him. She wanted him to remember them—and, if possible, supply a little help.
“Nancy, have you flipped?” Bess asked. “The guy behind us is trying to kill us—and you’re flirting with a truck driver?”
The man grinned down at them, then tilted his head toward the van behind her, his brows raised in a silent question.
With one hand, Nancy signaled that she wanted to get in front of him. He nodded. She could have performed the maneuver without his cooperation since there was enough room, but having the trucker in on the scheme was an added safety factor.
Flooring the accelerator, she shot ahead, then slipped in front of the rig. It moved up behind her, preventing the van from easing over between them.
Very, very gradually, Nancy decreased her speed. Finally the driver of the van had to pass hen He was in the fast lane with an oil tanker coming on hard behind him. A hundred yards farther, he moved over in front of her.
“Right where I want him!” Nancy shouted in triumph. With a beep of thanks to the trucker, she began to edge up closer to the van.
“What are you doing?” Bess shrieked.
“This guy left hidden mikes all over my uncle Jon’s house yesterday,” Nancy said. “It’s a cinch somebody was listening when he decided to confess. They killed him before he could talk.”
“You think the killer’s driving that van?”
“It’s a possibility. We know he’s capable of it. He tried to kill us, didn’t he?”
“Why are you chasing him, then? We should get off the highway and phone the police.”
“I plan to. I wanted to have a license number to give them, but it’s smeared with dirt. And I must have made him nervous. Look at him.”
The van was edging back into the fast lane again, coming dangerously close to causing an accident. He sped up, changed lanes, and, without using his turn signal to telegraph his intention, zipped off at the next exit.
“Now can we go tell the police about him?” Bess asked.
“We’re on our way. Maybe this time they’ll listen to me,” Nancy said. “This time I have a witness. And, Bess—you can close the window now.”
By the time Nancy got home from the police station, it was after dark. There were no lights on in her house. Carson Drew had heard the news about his friend’s murder and had left a note saying that he would be at the judge’s house if Nancy needed him. Hannah was still there, too.
Bess lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes, wearing a worried frown. “I wonder where Ann is,” she asked, fretting. They had called the hospital from the police station and been told the reporter had checked out. No one answered at her apartment.
“The police may have stashed her somewhere. If she can phone us, she will. Want something to eat?”
Bess looked tempted, but shook her head. “I think I’ll head home. You’ve had a rough day.”
“I’m okay,” Nancy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for getting my car for me.” Then Nancy shooed Bess out the door.