Chapter 08

Nancy snapped her head up at the name, but the chauffer was worried about more important things than Nancy. George came running back out, without the water, but with the stuck up concierge in tow. When he saw Mrs. Raybolt passed out he began to freak out.

He cursed in French for a few seconds. "Take her inside to the manager's office and have her lie down. I will have the house doctor come and take a look at her." He ran off, pale and muttering in french some more.

Between George and the chauffer, the managed to lift the unconscious woman and Nancy opened the door to the office for them. They laid her on the wide comfortable couch. The manager, stood from behind his desk.

"Good God, what happened?" he demanded as Nancy ran to the bathroom and ran some paper towels under the cold tap.

The chauffer began to explain while Nancy pressed the cold towel to the woman's forehead. "We went by the site of the fire. I told her it wasn't a good idea, but she wanted to. She saw her house and kind of sagged and got really pale. I made her come back to the hotel and she just collapsed."

Mrs. Raybolt tossed her head faintly and moaned. They all turned to look at her.

"Felix," she murmured. "Oh, Felix…"

Nancy leaned closer to her, wiping her brow gently. "Don't worry, your husband will be coming soon."

The woman shook her head, her forehead creasing. "My husband?"

"Yes, he's coming now," Nancy lied.

"My husband is dead. Felix is dead!"

"No he isn't, your husband is fine."

"He burned," she cried, lifting a hand to her head. "He burned down with my house. Felix is dead!"

"Listen, everything is fine. The police have said there's no evidence of anyone being in the house," George insisted gently.

"Yeah, your husband is…" a thought struck Nancy violently and her words caught in her throat for a moment, then she smiled at the woman. "…fine. I promise."

At that moment the doctor came in, the French desk clerk anxiously leaning over his shoulder. He handed her a glass of water to drink and had her sit up. Mrs. Raybolt, however, was adamant about her declaration.

"He was there when the fire happened," she said, her voice cracking. "He had an appointment. I told him not to go, damn it, but he never listened to me. He hated when I got involved with his business affairs."

"Mrs. Raybolt, you must calm down. Just-" the doctor began, trying to ease the conversation.

Mrs. Raybolt ignored him, looking straight at Nancy, a frantic look in eyes. "He shouldn't have gone! He knew it was going to be trouble. He told me the guy was about to snap. Felix thought he might hurt him. He shouldn't have gone!"

Nancy held her breath. If the appointment was with Joe Swenson, things were worse than she thought. She cursed to herself.

"All right, Mrs. Raybolt needs some air. Everybody, please leave the room," the doctor announced in an authoritative voice.

Nancy and George, along with the others in the room, filed out. The girls were silent as they headed to the car. When they got out to the road, George looked at Nancy. She had a worried look on her face.

"What do you think of this whole thing now?" she asked.

"I think that either Joe Swenson has very bad luck or his family is very good at covering for him," Nancy said, feeling like she was swallowing a handful of tacks.

"You think he was the person Raybolt was meeting up with?" George asked.

"I hope not."

"You think Raybolt is dead?"

Nancy hesitated, her gut wrenching. "Like you said, the police haven't seen anything like that, but…"

"But?" George asked as Nancy turned onto the highway.

"That explosion. Remember that they found traces of something that had blown up? What if, in the explosion, Felix Raybolt…"

"Ew," George said, wrinkling her nose. "You mean guts and brains and stuff everywhere?"

"Thank you for painting that picture, but yeah. Maybe. I hope not."

"Hey, this isn't the way home," George said, looking out her window.

"I figured since we're already up here I might as well drop off my repair bill to that Weston guy," Nancy explained. "Why waste another trip."

George looked at her friend suspiciously. "Why are you really going to this guy's job when you can just mail the damn thing?"

Nancy grinned at how well George knew her. She started to tell her about how she found the list of factories and her theory about Joe Swenson. George nodded and sunk back down in her seat. Nancy pulled into a gas station and went into the stop-n-go to pay. She handed her credit card to the man at the counter.

"Do you know the fastest way to Stanford? I need to get there before five," Nancy asked sweetly.

"You can take the shortcut across Sunview Mountain. It'll take half the time," he stated and began to explain the way through the pass. "But be careful. There's a report out that some whack job is hiding in the area. Just lock your doors."

"They don't know who it is?" Nancy asked.

"Nah, not yet. But supposedly this guy has a wrap sheet. Arson, robbery, some other stuff… and they're pretty sure he's got a gun on him. Pretty girl like you should be careful, get me?"

"Thanks."

Nancy went out to meet George who had started pumping gas into the car and related the story. George scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Thank God Bess isn't here. She'd be having a shit-fit," George muttered.

The girls got back into the car and kept driving. They were soon traveling along a dense wood. George shifted nervously. Nancy's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.

"Could that guy at the gas station maybe not have given you directions into the creepiest part of Stanford? Just a thought. It'd be pretty funny to see that Swenson guy hiding in one of these bushes, huh?" George mocked, but her voice was strained.

"Yeah. Hilarious," Nancy said, swallowing hard. She scanned the landscape. "You know, you might be onto something."

"What?" George squeaked nervously.

"This is a pretty good place to hide."

George stared at her, horrified until Nancy gave a teasing grin and George shoved her and she laughed. They passed through the shortcut and reached a fork in the road. Nancy stopped and grimaced.

"I can't remember what the guy said, left or right," she murmured. "I think left?"

She turned the wheel and started down the left side of the road. They drove for a couple of minutes, but nothing appeared.

"Okay, I'm starting to think that maybe this wasn't the right way," Nancy said, shrugging.

"You think?" George snapped sarcastically. "Why don't we just ask at this creepy shack up here?" She sat up in her seat as Nancy began to pull up to the shack. "Are you freaking nuts, I was kidding!"

"Calm down, okay?" Nancy said, throwing the car into park.

"Did you not hear about the psycho killer roaming the area?" George called after her. She debated with herself for a second, then opened the door. "Shit. Hey, wait for me!"

They walked slowly up to the shack, looking around the woods. Nancy gave a yelp, which George caught and continued and they stood, huddled for a moment. Nancy squinted after a moment and started laughing.

"Sorry. I though that stupid scarecrow was someone hiding in the bushes," she explained.

George, still panting and afraid, smacked her arm. "Bitch."

Nancy laughed. "I'm sorry. I got scared!"

George muttered something and they continued towards the shack. It was decrepit-looking and small. The hinges were rusted and the wood was rotting and chipping. Nancy took in a deep breath and then, showing more confidence than she felt, knocked on the door. They waited anxiously for a few moments and then she knocked again. Nothing. George craned closer to listen.

"I think I heard someone in there," she said in barely a whisper.

They waited a little longer, then Nancy grabbed the doorknob. Expecting the shack to be locked, she almost fell forward when the door swept open all at once. She looked up to see if someone was there, but the shack was empty. She laughed and gave George a smile. The latter shook off her adrenaline rush and reciprocated the smile. The shack had some furniture covered in a thick layer of dust. Nancy looked around, but there was nothing.

She and George went back to the car and decided to go back to the fork in the road and go down the right side. After a while, they saw the town of Sanford below them. Nancy stepped on the gas and had George read her directions to the Weston factory. They parked in the guest parking and walked into the main office. It was about four fifteen in the afternoon and Nancy grinned to herself.

"Hi," Nancy said charmingly to the secretary. "I'm here to see Mr. Weston. I don't have an appointment, but I won't take long. I just came to drop something off."

"Let me see if he can see you. Your name?" the secretary asked kindly.

"Nancy Drew. I'm the girl whose car he ran into on Friday."

"Oh, okay. Sure. Hold on a second." She picked up the phone and spoke quietly into it for a second. She hung up after a minute and stood, leading them to a closed door behind her. "Mr. Weston will see you."

"Thanks," Nancy said, walking into the office with George.

Baylor Weston was just as jumpy as the last time they'd seen him. When he saw the girls, he began spouting apologies again that Nancy managed to stem after a while. He was expecting her it seemed. Nancy handed him the bill, waiting for him to tell her his insurance company's name, but instead he whipped out his check book and wrote out a check for the full amount. George's eyes bugged and she gave Nancy a this guy must be loaded look, but didn't say anything.

"Here you are. Again, I-I-I-I-I-I'm so sorry about the trouble. This is quite reasonable, I must say. My last accident cost much more. Not to mention that lawsuit I managed to avoid." He laughed to himself and pushed his glasses up his nose compulsively. "Quite, quite, unfortunate. Yes. Well, now that that's settled, one less thing to worry about. I really shouldn't drive."

"Maybe you should get a chauffer," George said without meaning to and Nancy elbowed her in the ribs.

"That's a great idea!" he said to their surprise and they plastered smiles on their faces as he scribbled the idea down on a post-it note. "Have you heard how much Raybolt lost in the fire?"

"No, I don't think they've estimated anything yet," Nancy replied. "We did run into Mrs. Raybolt nearby though. She looked really bad."

Baylor Weston snorted. "They never did like losing a penny."

"I've heard, but she was saying that he husband was burned along with the house."

"She was going crazy. She thinks he's dead," George added.

"Felix Raybolt burnt in a fire? Ha! Not a chance. He's too smart for that," Weston alleged.

"She didn't look like she was faking it," Nancy replied, perturbed.

"I doubt she was. Raybolt was never one to tell his wife anything. He did what he needed to do to get his way."

"You know him?"

"We used to do business for a while. The man is a low life thief. I broke off any business relation years ago. He has no conscious," Weston said disgustedly.

"We've heard," Nancy replied dryly. "Mr. Weston, I came for another reason. Do you know if there's a Joe Swenson working here? He would have started in the last week or two."

Weston thought for a moment then shook his head. "I can't think of anyone named Swenson who started, but let me check with human resources." He picked up the phone and after a couple of minutes, hung it up again with a shake of his head. "No one named Joe Swenson works here. Sorry. Is he a friend?"

"Sort of," Nancy responded evasively. "He's more the friend of a friend and I was looking for him to ask him something. Thanks Mr. Weston. See you later."

"No, really, thank you," Weston said, grabbing her head and looking her straight in the eyes. "Thank you very much."

Nancy smiled. "No problem. Accidents happen."

"Look into that chauffer," George called back to him.

"I will, thank you," Weston replied.

Nancy and George walked back down to the car. They had just pulled out of the visitor's parking and onto the street that ran across the front of the factory as a whistled blew, signaling the end of the work day at the factory. The girls waited at a red light as factory workers began pouring out of the plant. Nancy leaned forward suddenly.

"No way…" Nancy murmured in disbelief.

"What? What happened?" George asked, concerned.

Nancy pointed to a worker crossing the street a few blocks ahead of them. "That guy over there… that's Joe Swenson!"