Troubled Waters (Nancy Drew (All New) Girl Detective Book 23) by Carolyn Keene Page B

you just want your own place, know what I mean?”
    “Mmm,” George said. “Did you say you do know which room is J.C.’s?” she pressed.
    “Sure, I know. Room 226. It’s right down there,” the woman said, nodding farther down the second-floor balcony. She reached for a bottle of spray cleanser with one hand and her keys with the other.
    “Do you think you could let us in?” I asked before she could disappear into the next room. Seeing her hesitate, I added quickly, “There’s something in there that’s desperately needed at the foundry. Work could be held up if we don’t get it soon.”
    It wasn’t a total lie. Work would be held up if there was any more damage to the foundry. Still, I wasn’t sure the woman bought our story. For a moment she just stood there sorting through her keys. But at last she smiled and said, “Well, I guess it’s all right. . . .” Stepping farther down the balcony, she unlockedroom 226 and pushed the door open. “Just close up when you leave. The door will lock automatically.”
    And just like that, we were inside.
    “Yes!” George whispered. “So, what are we looking for?”
    I heard the cleaning woman’s footsteps fade away as I took a quick glance around the room. It was a pretty standard motel layout—bed, TV, desk, closet, minifridge, and bathroom. I headed to the desk first and began opening drawers.
    “We’re looking for the framed photos that were taken, for one thing,” I told George. “Or anything else that connects J.C. to the damage at the foundry. A sledgehammer, silver spray paint . . .”
    As George slid open the closet door, I bent to look underneath J.C.’s bed. As soon as I lifted the hem of the bedspread, a sour, moldy smell hit my nose.
    “Either the River Heights Motor Lodge needs to do a better cleaning job, or something that’s been in the floods is under here,” I murmured.
    Pressing the side of my head against the carpet, I spotted some boxlike silhouettes under the bed. I reached for the closest one and pulled out something smooth and wooden.
    “It’s one of the missing pictures from the foundry!” I exclaimed. Reaching back underneath the bed, I quickly pulled out two more. “Yup. Here’s the oldbuilding plan and those photos we saw our first day at the foundry, of people working there back in the nineteen fifties.”
    “So J.C. did steal them!” George said breathlessly. “And that’s not all. Look at these, Nancy!”
    I glanced up to see her step away from the closet with a handful of clothes that definitely belonged in the laundry carts outside. In one hand were a pair of jeans and a polo shirt so muddied that we could barely make out the blue color underneath the grime. Hanging from the other hand was a pair of sneakers caked with a familiar, sour-smelling slime.
    “He’s definitely been nosing around where the floods were,” George said. “Or tromping through the muddy bank under the window of the foundry, where we saw footprints.”
    “There’s something else under here too,” I added. Putting my head to the floor, I reached for the last remaining object under the bed. I nearly gagged when my fingers touched slimy wood. “Ugh!” I said. Still, I made myself hold on to the moldy-smelling thing. I pulled it out into the light, then sat back on my heels to look at it.
    “It’s an old cigar box,” I said. “A fancy one, from Cuba.”
    George dumped J.C.’s muddy clothes to the floor and bent over the box. “Didn’t Bernard Tilden writein his journal that he stole Cuban cigars from Mr. Davis?” she asked.
    “Mmm. So maybe this is the box they came in, huh?” I said. The box was still damp and was coated with the same moldy slime as J.C.’s clothes. Touching just a corner of the wood, I lifted the lid.
    “Oh my gosh!” George said. “We hit the jackpot, Nancy.”
    That was for sure. I lifted out a gleaming gold pocket watch and fingered the initials that were etched into the gold cover. “KD,” I said.