Into Thin Air by Carolyn Keene Page A

sleep, if I can. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”
    â€œOh?” Mark asked, intrigued.
    â€œChief McGinnis is going to have Artie Wilson’s apartment searched,” Nancy explained. “If Johnson is there, the case will be closed.”
    â€œThat sounds a little vague,” George said softly, walking with Nancy to the front door and holding it open. “It’s not like you to just wait for the police to do something.”
    â€œI’ll tell you later,” Nancy whispered to George. Revealing her plans with Mark around didn’t seem like the best idea at the moment.
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    The next morning Nancy was up early. Before breakfast she was on the phone to Chief McGinnis. He told her that his men had searched the Wilson apartment, and there were signs that someone had been living there. But it was empty when his men had arrived. Johnson had flown the coop again. Before he hung up, McGinnis once again warned Nancy to be careful.
    â€œThanks,” she replied before saying goodbye. She hurried to the kitchen, toasted an English muffin, and ate it quickly.
    â€œWill you be home for lunch, Nancy?” Hannah wanted to know.
    â€œNot today, but I will see you tonight.”
    Blowing Hannah a kiss, Nancy grabbed hercar keys and tore out to the driveway. On the drive to Brewster, she went over the case. There were a few pieces of the puzzle missing, and the most important was the identity of Johnson’s accomplice.
    Since Johnson had been warned of the sting being set up by Crabtree, Nancy reasoned that it was logical to suspect someone within the agency. She needed to take a closer look at Crabtree and Company.
    A little while later, she pulled into the underground parking lot under the office tower that housed Crabtree.
    Her heels clicking on the polished granite floor, Nancy strode purposefully to the elevator and rode up to the agency offices on the nineteenth floor.
    â€œI’d like to talk to Mr. Crabtree, as soon as possible,” she told the receptionist, who sat behind an old-fashioned oak desk.
    â€œDo you have an appointment?” the woman asked in a clipped tone.
    â€œNo, but I have some important information on the Anderson Industries case. It’s rather urgent,” Nancy added.
    â€œName, please,” the receptionist murmured.
    â€œNancy Drew,” Nancy replied.
    Still looking at her with cool suspicion, the secretary used the intercom. “Mr. Crabtree, there’s a young woman named Nancy Drewhere to see you. She says it’s in reference to the Anderson Industries case.”
    Soon Nancy was ushered into Archer Crabtree’s large corner office. Crabtree was a tall, well-dressed man of about fifty, with silver hair and tired-looking brown eyes. “Well, what is it?” he asked.
    After introducing herself, Nancy said, “I think you should know that Christopher Johnson is alive and has an accomplice inside this agency.”
    Crabtree shrugged nonchalantly. “Alive? Impossible! And if you’re talking about Mark Rubin, he’s already been fired.”
    â€œIt’s not Mark Rubin. It’s someone else,” Nancy said in a firm voice.
    The executive became more interested. “Do you have any proof?”
    â€œNo—not exactly,” Nancy said hesitantly. “But I do know that Johnson is still alive, and the police might be reopening the investigation.” She deliberately fudged the information, not wanting to give away Chief McGinnis’s intentions.
    Crabtree held her eyes and his finger went to the intercom on his desk. “Get Hal Slade in here right away,” he ordered. “Mr. Slade is the investigator who handled the Anderson Industries case.”
    â€œBut, Mr. Crabtree,” the receptionist protested. “Mr. Slade is with a client.”
    â€œI don’t care if he’s with the president of the United States, get him in here right now. Tell him it’s