Don’t Look Twice by Carolyn Keene Page B

some old crates over and climbed onto them.
    It took about three minutes to force the old window open, and another three to squeeze out. At one point Nancy thought she was hopelessly stuck, but after a panicky moment her hips popped through. Finally she lay sprawled on the frozen lawn behind the Masons’ house.
    After picking herself up and ignoring the protests of her wrenched shoulder, Nancy raced around to the front of the house. The black sedan was gone from the driveway, but maybe there was a chance she could catch up with Bernard. He couldn’t have gotten far yet.
    She sprinted across the street to her Mustang, fishing for the keys as she ran.
    â€œWhich way did he go?” she asked herself, turning the key in the ignition. Then she answered her own question—“Toward the North Side, I’ll bet.” His house, the place where he’d held her captive, had to be somewhere in that area. He was probably on his way there now. If he got there before Nancy, he’d just pack up Denise and the Rembrandt and go somewhere else!
    Nancy pulled out into the street and headed toward the North Side. It wasn’t quite teno’clock, and there were few cars on the streets yet. All the better, Nancy thought. Bernard’s sedan would be that much easier to spot. She fished out a woolen cap from her coat pocket and tugged it over her hair, then slipped on an old pair of sunglasses that she kept in the glove compartment. There—that would make her harder to recognize.
    She spotted him as she was coasting to a stop at a traffic light. Maybe my luck is changing, she thought. Bernard’s car was one lane over and a few yards ahead. His license plate was unmistakable; it read “BERN-ART.” Nancy had to chuckle. It was the perfect license plate for the vain assistant curator.
    The light changed and they moved on. Bernard didn’t seem to have spotted her, but Nancy was taking no chances. Now that she had found him, she stayed a cautious distance behind him.
    More and more cars appeared on the road as they approached the bustling North Side area. Nancy edged a little closer to Bernard, afraid that she would lose him in the traffic.
    Gradually she became aware that Bernard’s car was speeding up. Has he spotted me? she wondered. She pressed more firmly on the accelerator, and the Mustang responded with a burst of power.
    Ahead of her Bernard made an abrupt, unsignaled turn onto a big, busy street. Belmont, if Nancy remembered correctly. She acceleratedto follow him. He’d spotted her, she knew now. He was definitely driving faster.
    Suddenly the red Temperature light on the Mustang’s dashboard blinked on. Nancy groaned. What a time for the car to overheat! She only hoped it wasn’t serious. She couldn’t afford to stop now.
    Bernard drove up the entrance ramp to Lake Shore Drive, Nancy right after him. She frowned. Was that steam rising from the hood of her car? “Don’t do this to me now!” she exclaimed.
    The Mustang wasn’t listening, and suddenly its engine emitted a tortured whine. The car shuddered, and Nancy fought to keep control of the steering wheel. “Come on, car!” she cried.
    As Nancy was starting over the Belmont Bridge, the Mustang’s engine made a horrible grinding sound. The car jerked once, tires screeching. Then the engine died.
    Nancy was stranded—in the middle of Lake Shore Drive!

Chapter

Fourteen
    H EART POUNDING, Nancy peered through the windshield. She was caught in the left lane, with cars speeding by in a continuous stream, the drivers honking furiously at her. Bernard was no longer in sight.
    She tried restarting the car, but it was hopeless. There was nothing she could do but wait until the car cooled down—and pray that no one hit her.
    Finally the light did change, and the cars stopped coming at her. Nancy let out her breath. She opened the door and cautiously climbed out.
    â€œNeed some help,