Teresa shook her head. “I prefer to have Nancy Drew.”
The Secret Service men exchanged glances and shrugged. Together they went to the Hollins Gymnasium locker room, where Teresa’s belongings were searched. Then they drove back to the hotel, where her room was searched.
An agent found the book of poetry, in Spanish, with its Spanish inscription signed by Roberto. He put it down, looking bored.
“There could be a clue in that,” Nancy said to him quietly when Teresa could not hear.
“If there are any coded messages around, we’ll find them,” the agent said condescendingly. “It doesn’t look as though your South American friend needs you anymore. We want to have her take a look at some photographs at our office, and the lawyer her embassy’s sending over will be all the moral support she needs.”
Nancy bit back the retort she felt like making. She gave Teresa a last compassionate smile and went downstairs to her own suite. Bess and George were there waiting for her.
“Bess has been making time, as usual,” George said dryly after Nancy had told them what had happened and confessed how little she really knew.
Bess blushed. “I just told Dan how wonderful it must be to have a really significant job like the one he has and to know what’s really happening behind the headlines. Don’t laugh!” she said hastily, as the others grinned. “I’m not just leading him on. I really like him! Good looks and brains, for a change! But I thought I ought to use mine and do some detecting, too.”
“What did you find out?” Nancy asked.
Bess pulled off her sundress and carefully laid out a less casual outfit while she answered Nancy. “I got a lesson on South American politics. That president-for-life in San Carlos really is bad news. He’d probably arrest someone for looking at him cross-eyed, and so many people have simply disappeared that the place is on the edge of a real revolution. And our government’s going crazy because there’s no knowing which political group will take over! Meanwhile, back at the palace, the president’s bought himself some terrorists to eliminate the leaders of the opposition. And there are probably other terrorists trying to eliminate him.”
“You can’t tell the players without a score-card,” George murmured.
Bess nodded. “According to Dan, the players are switching sides all the time. He says that every time you blink, people change loyalties there.
“Well, I’m first for the shower,” Bess continued, heading for it. “You two had better get a move on. Dan’s picking us up for dinner in half an hour, and he’s bringing along two more bodyguards.”
“Who’s going to protect us from them—or them from Bess?” George wondered aloud.
Bess was right—Dan was good company. He was intelligent, shrewd, and funny, and so were his friends. They ate dinner in a Greek restaurant, and afterward there was music and dancing. It was a fun evening. Or it would have been, if Nancy could have gotten Teresa off her mind.
But she was still thinking about her when the young men returned the girls to their hotel. “Want us to see you into your rooms?” Dan asked.
“Thanks. I think we’ll be safer if you don’t,” Bess answered with a laugh.
The men walked the girls to their door anyway and waited until they were safely inside. George bolted the door.
“That was a nice evening. I think I’ll check with the front desk to see if there were any phone calls while we were out,” Nancy said, heading for her own bedroom.
She flipped on the light switch as she entered.
Then she screamed.
Chapter Eight
The scream brought Nancy’s friends running. They froze, appalled, their eyes following the direction of Nancy’s pointing finger.
There was a message, but it hadn’t come by phone and hadn’t been left with the front desk. It lay in the center of Nancy’s bed in the tightly locked suite.
It was a doll, an eight-inch redheaded doll with a teenage figure, dressed in an abbreviated blue bikini. The doll’s head lolled sickeningly to one side. A red cord was knotted around the broken neck.
A note was attached, written with a blood-red marker: