“This is a simple job—quick and easy. And no mystery!” Nancy shook her head vigorously, hoping her red-gold hair hid her blush as she remembered Senator Kilpatrick’s words on the phone last night: “Find a way to get into the locker rooms, but don’t let anyone find out what you’re doing.”
“The real mystery,” Nancy continued, “is why Bess Marvin, who’s allergic to exercise, is in such a hurry to see a tennis tournament.”
“If it were a men’s tournament we’d understand,” George agreed. She looked at her cousin, who was knotting a bright print shirt at her midriff. “I suppose you think that’s a tennis outfit,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“You’re here to watch the tournament and pick up tennis pointers. I’m here to watch the tournament-watchers,” Bess said, unruffled. “If you must know, I’m looking for a better grade of boyfriend. One with something in the brains department!”
Nancy’s eyes met George’s with shared amusement. Bess’s most recent great loves had been a rock musician and a skier. Falling for a brain would be a nice change.
“You two take a cab out to the tournament,” Nancy said generously. “It’ll be my treat. I’ll drive the rental car out and meet you just as soon as Senator Kilpatrick has called. That way you won’t miss anything.”
“Really? Great!” Bess dashed out of the bedroom, taking a brief look in the mirror as she passed it. “If I gain one more pound I won’t be able to get into this skirt again,” she said mournfully.
“Worry about that later,” George said. “I want to get out there and see Teresa Montenegro. See you later, Nancy, okay?”
“Sure,” Nancy answered absently as the two girls left. The mention of Teresa Montenegro, the San Carlos player, had made last night’s conversation, and her own secret mission, flash vividly back into her head.
Secret mission? What made me think that? Nancy wondered, startled. Her friends were right. She did have mysteries on the brain.
Nancy crossed the suite and went into her bedroom. She stared at her reflection in the bureau mirror, only half seeing it.
The small travel clock she’d set beside the bed ticked loudly. Two o’clock. A quarter after. Half past. When the phone on the bedside table finally rang, Nancy leaped for it so quickly that the little clock went crashing to the floor.
“Senator Kilpat—”
A woman’s voice interrupted evenly. “Miss Nancy Drew? This is Senator Kilpatrick’s office calling. The senator has asked me to tell you the meet has been postponed until nine o’clock this evening. Same instructions as before. You are to contact the senator immediately afterward and report what happened. Thank you.”
The phone went dead.
Not a meeting, the meet. That was government talk. Secret Service or CIA talk.
As Nancy changed clothes rapidly, her mind reviewed the instructions Senator Kilpatrick had given her.
“Pick up your special pass at the hotel desk—I sent it over by messenger. It’s a government pass, and it should get you through security and into the women’s locker room. If the guards give you a hard time, have them call my office. But it would be better if you could get in there without anyone noticing. Your father says you have a blue denim miniskirt. I imagine you have a plain white T-shirt, don’t you? . . . Wear that, and do you have some kind of distinctive belt you can wear? . . . A bright red one? Yes, that would be good. I’ll see that the courier is notified that that will be your identifying mark. After you receive the information packet, go back to your assigned box seat and stay with your friends for the rest of the match. As soon as you get back to your hotel, call my office and insist on speaking directly to me. I’ll alert my staff to connect us at once.” That’s what the senator had said.
Well, there was no need for the special outfit till that night, so Nancy thrust it into a small duffel bag that she used as a purse and changed into shorts and a knit top in tennis white with a pale blue stripe. Then she ran out of the suite and toward the elevator. If she was lucky, she could just miss the commuter traffic that would soon clog the highways.