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ПРИЯТНОГО ЧТЕНИЯ!
Carolyn Keene
Nancy Drew Mystery Stories: Volume One Hundred-Thirteen
The Secret Lost at Sea
Copyright, 1993, by Simon & Schuster
When someone targets the seaport museum in Bridgehaven, Connecticut, destroying centuries-old nautical relics, Nancy takes times from her vacation to track down the vandal.
Mystery at the Seaport
“Hey, Nancy, check out that huge sailing ship,” George Fayne said to her friend Nancy Drew. “It’s amazing!”
Nancy looked to her left and saw an old wooden ship that was at least a hundred feet long. Its three masts stood tall against the blue sky. A dozen old-fashioned square sails billowed in the warm summer breeze.
“We sure don’t have anything like that back home in River Heights,” Nancy said.
“I guess it helps to have an ocean around,” George added with a laugh. “There aren’t too many of those in the Midwest.”
After flying to the East Coast that morning, the girls had just arrived at Bridgehaven Seaport, in Bridgehaven, Connecticut. All around them visitors were touring the charming buildings that re-created a typical seaport town. Other tourists were exploring the old sailboats moored along the Arcadia River and a lighthouse at the tip of a point of land.
Nancy looked down at the pamphlet she was holding. “According to this, the seaport has a lot more than just these exhibits from the old sailing days. There are also classes taught by experts in all seafaring fields and skills and a shipyard where they build and repair wooden sailing ships.”
“Sounds great. I like this place already,” George said with a grin.
Nancy wasn’t surprised to hear that. With her tall, athletic build and short, curly, dark hair, George was crazy about everything having to do with sports and the outdoors.
“Too bad Bess couldn’t come,” Nancy said with a sigh. Bess Marvin, George’s cousin, was on vacation with her parents in California.
“Yeah, but it’s not as if this is a pleasure trip,” George said. A grim look came into her brown eyes. “It’s hard to believe that someone would want to wreck a place as nice as this.”
Nancy nodded, brushing a lock of reddish-blond hair out of her face. “Mrs. Newcomb, the seaport’s director, is really upset about the damage that was done to one of the exhibits,” she said. “That’s why she asked Dad if I could help find the person who’s responsible.”
Patricia Newcomb and Nancy’s father, Carson Drew, had been friends since they were in college together. Over the years Mrs. Newcomb had heard of Nancy’s reputation as a top-notch detective, and she’d asked for Nancy’s help in finding the culprit.
“Oops,” Nancy said, checking her watch. “We’re supposed to meet Mrs. Newcomb at one o’clock, and that’s three minutes from now.”
“Let’s go,” George said.
The guard at the seaport entrance had given the girls directions to the building where Mrs. Newcomb’s office was located. Picking up her red backpack and suitcase, Nancy followed a narrow path that led away from the river, past a row of old-fashioned buildings and what looked like a town square. Finally she and George reached a white clapboard building tucked away behind some trees. A sign by the door read Administration.
Inside, the girls found themselves in a house that had been converted into the seaport’s offices. The foyer had nautical prints and paintings on the walls, and a reception desk was near the door.
“May I help you?” asked a dark-haired woman sitting behind the desk.
Nancy explained who they were, and the receptionist showed her and George to an office on the second floor. Inside, a woman with brown eyes and thick, shoulder-length chestnut hair was sitting behind a wooden desk. The woman was wearing a conservative linen suit, but her robust build and ruddy coloring gave Nancy the impression that she enjoyed the outdoors.
“Nancy Drew!” Patricia Newcomb exclaimed. She smiled warmly as she stood and shook Nancy’s hand. “I’d know Carson’s daughter anywhere—you have his blue eyes, I see.”
“Guilty,” Nancy said, grinning.
Mrs. Newcomb turned to George. “And you must be George Fayne. Thank you both so much for helping us out here at the seaport.”
“We’re happy to be able to come,” George said sincerely.
Mrs. Newcomb sat down behind her desk, gesturing for Nancy and George to take the office’s two other chairs. “I suppose your father told you that the seaport has recently been hit by a serious act of sabotage,” she began.
Nancy nodded. “He didn’t give me any of the details, though.”
A frown darkened the seaport director’s face. “A few nights ago someone damaged a display depicting life on board an old whaling ship. The display showed pictures of a whale chase and also re-created the crowded living quarters on board,” she explained. “A valuable antique ship’s clock was stolen from the display, but that’s not the worst of it. Whoever took the clock also gouged the walls of the display with some words that were—well, let’s just say I can’t repeat them here.”
“That’s awful!” George exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust.
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Newcomb agreed. “Luckily the walls of the display don’t have any historic value. But as you know, we have several irreplaceable historic sailing ships and a large collection of antique furniture, scrimshaw—designs carved into whale’s teeth—and other crafts. Any damage to them could have a disastrous effect on the seaport.”
“That’s where we come in, right?” Nancy guessed.
Mrs. Newcomb nodded and gave Nancy and George an imploring look. “I hope you’ll be able to catch the culprit before he does any more harm.”
“Do you have any idea who’s responsible?” George asked.
Mrs. Newcomb stared thoughtfully out the window for a moment before answering. “Every summer Bridgehaven Seaport offers a program for college students. It mixes courses in maritime fields with hands-on experience in activities such as sailing and boat building. The students live right here in Bridgehaven in houses owned by the seaport. They do all their own cooking and cleaning. It’s a lot like staying in a dorm, except it’s a more homelike atmosphere.”
George’s brown eyes lit up. “Sounds great.” Then she frowned and added, “Oh—I get it. You think one of the students wrecked that display?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mrs. Newcomb replied. “A few kids have been caught exploring the seaport after hours, which is strictly forbidden. They’re allowed to use the seaport’s library in the evenings, but that’s it.”
“Isn’t there some kind of security system to make sure that students don’t go where they shouldn’t?” Nancy asked.
“We have guards, of course, but they can’t be everywhere at once,” Mrs. Newcomb replied. She went on to explain that students used a special gate to enter and leave the seaport after closing time. Each student had a key to the gate. “We lock up all the exhibits at night, but I’m afraid the locks are fairly simple.”
She let out a sigh. “To be honest, we never had a problem before, so I never had any kind of alarm system installed.”
Leaning forward, Nancy asked, “How can George and I help out?”
“I’d like you to pose as a student in the program, Nancy,” Mrs. Newcomb said. “As it happens, we had a girl cancel out at the last minute, so no one will question your late arrival as her replacement.”
She turned to George and added, “You’ll sign on as an assistant in the shipyard—that’s where new ships are built and old ones are restored. The tool used in the sabotage may have come from there. I’ve told the master shipbuilder that you’re the daughter of a trustee who wants to learn the craft of shipbuilding—that will explain why you don’t have more experience. The students have workshops in the shipyard. I’d like you to keep an eye on them when they’re there.”
“Okay. I’ll look for anything else suspicious, too,” George promised.
“Good.” Clapping her hands together, Mrs. Newcomb got to her feet. “I’ll take you over to the shipyard now. Then Nancy and I can swing around to the Student Training Building—that’s where the students in the maritime program go for their sailing lessons.”
Mrs. Newcomb explained that she would arrange for the girls’ bags to be brought to the houses where they would be staying. Nancy would be in one of the student houses. The director had arranged for George to stay in a private home where two girls who worked as guides at the seaport lived. Mrs. Newcomb indicated both houses on a map of Bridgehaven that was in Nancy’s pamphlet. Then, after handing both girls their ID cards and keys to the student gate, she led them back out of the Administration Building.
As they made their way across the seaport, Mrs. Newcomb pointed out some of the sights. Narrow lanes wound around an old sailor’s chapel, a schoolhouse, and a general store. A row of buildings running along the water re-created an old pharmacy, a workshop where wooden casks were made, and a store for nautical instruments.
After they passed a large village green, Mrs. Newcomb led the girls to a separate area dominated by an enormous wooden building with piles of wood stacked neatly outside. There were several wide doorways to the building, and Mrs. Newcomb stopped through the nearest one.
“Wow, this place is as big as an airplane hangar,” George commented, looking around.
The inside of the building was one huge, open space. A long wooden ship’s hull, propped up off the ground on supports, dominated much of the space. Several men and women were hard at work on it, scraping barnacles from the planking. At the far end of the building Nancy could see more carpenters constructing a small sailboat. Tools of all shapes and sizes were arranged on hooks against one wall.
Patricia Newcomb called out to one of the workers, a muscular man of medium height with dark hair and olive skin. A scowl came over the man’s face when he saw her, and Nancy noticed that he took his time walking over to them. He didn’t say anything, but simply crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“Vincent, I’d like you to meet Nancy Drew and George Fayne,” Mrs. Newcomb said, ignoring the man’s sullen attitude. “Girls, this is Vincent Silvio, Bridgehaven Seaport’s master shipbuilder.” She went on to tell Vincent that George was a trustee’s daughter who would be his new assistant.
Silvio gave George a dubious look. “So now I’m stuck with any old help you want to toss my way?” he asked Mrs. Newcomb bitterly.
George rolled her eyes at Nancy and bent close to whisper, “Nice guy.”
Before Nancy could respond, Vincent Silvio took George’s arm and led her toward the ship’s hull, which was being scraped.
“Bye, George. I’ll come by your house tonight after dinner,” Nancy called after her friend. Nancy wasn’t sure what to make of Vincent Silvio. As Mrs. Newcomb led Nancy back outside, the seaport director said, “Vincent can be... difficult at times, but he’s a top shipbuilder. Portuguese families like the Silvios have been sailing and fishing along this part of the Connecticut coast ever since the old whaling days in the early 1800s. Shipbuilding has been passed down from father to son in Vincent’s family for generations.”
“I never knew the Portuguese played such a big role in the old sailing days here,” Nancy said as Mrs. Newcomb led her around the village green and out onto the point toward the lighthouse. To the right of the lighthouse was a low building alongside the water. Next to it a small dock jutted out over the river.
“This is the Student Training Building,” Mrs. Newcomb told Nancy.
Half a dozen small sailboats were clustered in the water next to the dock, each manned by one or two students. Only one of the boats had its sails up, Nancy saw. A spindly, white-haired man was standing in the boat. He was wearing a work shirt with a pair of glasses sticking out of the pocket, and baggy blue pants that flapped around his legs. A blond boy in his late teens sat in the rear of the boat. He seemed to be helping the man demonstrate some sailing techniques.
“The older man is Cap Gregory, the sailing instructor,” Mrs. Newcomb told Nancy in a low voice, pausing beneath the eave of the training building. “Let’s wait here until he’s done.”
The warm summer breeze ruffled Nancy’s hair. The seaport was just a few miles upriver from the coastline, where the Arcadia River spilled out into the Atlantic Ocean, and Nancy could smell a hint of salty air.
She listened while Cap Gregory explained to the students how to handle the sailboats during a race they were about to have. He pointed to two red buoys that were set up in the middle of the river, several hundred yards apart.
“You’ll have to tack upwind, keeping your sails pulled close to the wind,” he said. “Then, after circling around the far buoy, run with the wind to the near buoy. First boat to go back and forth five times wins the regatta.”
Nancy had sailed enough to know that a regatta was a sailboat race. This one sounded like a lot of fun. She listened as Cap Gregory reviewed how to “come about,” or turn the sailboat.
Cap was standing with his back to the blond boy who was in the sailboat with him. While the instructor spoke, the boy silently mimicked all of his gestures, causing some of the other kids to giggle. Cap was so caught up in his explanation that he didn’t seem to notice, but Nancy caught the disapproving expression on Mrs. Newcomb’s face.
“Okay, Deke,” Cap said, turning to the blond boy. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Deke made an exaggerated salute. “Yes, sir!” he replied in a voice that was anything but respectful. His eyes gleamed mischievously as he grabbed the lever that was used to steer the boat, pushing it hard to the right.
The little sailboat jerked around in a ninety-degree turn. The wind caught the side of the sail, sending it swinging around to Cap’s side of the boat. Before Cap had time to duck out of the way, the sail smacked right into him, knocking him into the river!
Man Overboard
Nancy gasped and ran to the edge of the dock. For one awful moment she lost sight of Cap, who had disappeared into the Arcadia River. Then his head broke through the surface. He was sputtering, but he didn’t look injured.
“That’s the last straw, Mr. Ryan!” Cap declared angrily, treading water. “I want you out of my class—now!” Even in his sopping wet clothes, the white-haired man cut through the water with an easy grace as he swam back to the dock. The other students shifted nervously in their boats.
Nancy noticed that the defiant gleam remained in Deke Ryan’s eyes as he maneuvered his sailboat the short distance to the dock and got out, securing the line to one of the moorings. He snickered at the sailing instructor, who now stood on the dock, water streaming down his face and clothes.
“I’d be nicer to me, if I were you,” Deke sneered. “Unless you want to find all these boats at the bottom of the Arcadia River one day.”
Mrs. Newcomb stepped forward. “That’s enough, Deke. I want to talk to you, young man—in my office.”
Despite the director’s stern words, Nancy thought she seemed a little nervous. Deke was just a student—why would he make Mrs. Newcomb anxious?
The other students seemed surprised by the seaport director’s sudden appearance. They looked on in silence while Mrs. Newcomb quickly introduced Nancy to Cap as a late arrival to the maritime studies program. Then the seaport director turned and left with Deke.
Cap didn’t seem to mind at all that he was soaking wet. After calmly taking his glasses from his dripping shirt pocket, he put them on to look at Nancy. Then he welcomed her and found her a place in one of the sailboats.
As Nancy stepped into the boat, the petite girl sitting in it smiled at her. She was about Nancy’s age and had penetrating blue eyes and curly black hair that was pulled back in a high ponytail.
“Hi,” the girl greeted Nancy, smiling. “Mrs. Newcomb told me you’d be arriving today. I’m Claire Roebling, your roommate. And don’t worry—despite what you just saw, most of us are pretty nice.”
Nancy laughed. “Thanks for telling me. What’s that guy’s story, anyway?” she asked.
“Deke Ryan’s a jerk. Don’t pay any attention to him,” Claire told her. “He’s just mad because Cap got him and his roommate in trouble for climbing the rigging of the Benjamin W. Hinton at night, after the seaport was closed to visitors.” She gestured toward the three-masted sailing ship Nancy and George had noticed earlier. “The old ships are strictly off-limits then.”
Hmm, Nancy thought. If a troublemaking student was behind the sabotage at the seaport, Deke Ryan certainly would be a likely prospect.
“Anyone else would get kicked out of the program,” Claire went on. “But Deke comes from an old New England sailing family. They’ve donated tons of stuff to Bridgehaven Seaport. Mrs. Newcomb wouldn’t dare throw him out.”
So that was why Mrs. Newcomb had seemed nervous about reprimanding Deke, Nancy realized. If the Ryans were big patrons of the seaport, they probably wouldn’t be happy about their son getting in trouble.
“You can fasten that line at the bottom of the mast,” Claire went on.
While the girls had been talking, Nancy had been raising the boat’s triangular mainsail. Nancy fastened the rope where Claire indicated, then went to work raising the smaller sail at the front of the boat.
“What about you?” Nancy asked. “How did you get interested in Bridgehaven’s maritime program?”
Claire let out a short laugh. “Actually, I’m from Wyoming. I was never even on a sailboat until last fall, when I started college in Boston,” she explained. “My roommate really loves sailing. The first time I went with her, I was hooked. I wanted to know everything about sailing and the old seafaring days, when sailing ships were a big deal in commerce and travel.”
“Well, this is definitely the place to learn,” Nancy said.
The other sailboats were lining up by the near buoy, Nancy saw. Claire took over steering the boat, while Nancy picked up the lines that controlled the two sails. A few minutes later Cap blew a whistle, and they were off!
Nancy had no difficulty following Claire’s directions. Soon they were zigzagging upwind toward the far buoy. The wind whipped at Nancy’s clothes and filled the sails as they skimmed across the blue-gray water. The feeling was so exhilarating that Nancy forgot all about the mystery that awaited her.
• • •
“Are you going down to the lighthouse to listen to the sea chanties?” Claire asked Nancy later that afternoon. The girls were just leaving the seaport’s brick library, where the student program held its classes.
“You bet,” Nancy replied, slipping her class notes into her backpack. “Especially since that’s what I’m doing my history project on.”
After the regatta the students had gathered for the final class of the day, maritime history. Nancy learned that each student had to do a project for the class. Their teacher suggested that she do hers on old sea ballads, called sea chanties.
During the class, Nancy had discovered that Claire was a very serious student. Everyone else had spent time whispering about the regatta and kidding the winners—two boys named Greg and Julio. But Claire just took studious notes, glaring at anyone who interrupted the teacher. Nancy had to admire her dedication. It was obvious that Claire wanted to learn all she could in the program.
As the two girls made their way across the village green, Nancy could see that a group of tourists had already assembled next to the lighthouse. She recognized several other students from the program, including Deke Ryan. A handful of seaport employees stood in a semicircle, dressed in old-fashioned sailor’s clothes. One of the employees held an accordion, and another had a harmonica.
Moments after Nancy and Claire joined the group, the accordion player gave a signal, and the singers launched into their first song: “Hoist every sail to the breeze, lads...”
Nancy couldn’t help tapping her feet to the jaunty tune, which was all about catching a whale. Some people in the crowd started clapping their hands to the beat. As the song went on to describe a chase with harpoons, Nancy could easily imagine the exciting scene.
Her attention was broken by a bitter voice to her left. “Those days are over for me,” Cap Gregory muttered to no one in particular. “I’m through with the high seas—thanks to Patricia Newcomb.”
Nancy studied Cap, who didn’t realize she’d heard him. His sentimental expression hardened to a bitter glare. A few moments later he stormed off, disappearing around the other side of the lighthouse.
Nancy exchanged a look with Claire, who shrugged and whispered, “Cap says stuff like that all the time. He used to be the captain of a big sailing ship that the seaport sends around the world as a way of teaching people about sailing. I guess he wasn’t too happy about retiring from the high seas,” she added. “I think he had to because of his eyesight.”
The girls returned their attention to the singers. The group had just started in on a new song, which seemed to be about a shipwreck:
“In eighteen hundred and forty-three,
My bonnie Mary was waiting for me.
When out of the North such a cold wind did blow,
My sweet Mary never again would I know...”
A sudden movement high up in the lighthouse caught Nancy’s gaze. She looked up in time to see a wide board balanced on the lighthouse railing, directly above where the singers were standing.
Nancy gasped as the board wobbled precariously, then slipped over the side. In a moment it would crash right down onto the singers’ heads!
Trouble at the Lighthouse
“Look out!” Nancy cried, vaulting forward. Instinctively she grabbed her backpack by the straps and hurled it at the board with all her strength.
A moment later the backpack hit the board with a loud thud. The impact was just enough to deflect the board. It and the backpack clattered to the ground a few feet away from the singers.
Fearful cries rose up from the crowd, and people started to scatter. The singers stood in shocked silence.
“Wh-what happened?” asked one of them, a young man with sandy hair and a beard. “Where did that board come from?” He looked expectantly at Nancy.
Shading her eyes from the sun, Nancy stared grimly up at the lighthouse railing. “That’s what I’d like to find out,” she said.
Turning, she raced around to the lighthouse entrance. The cooler air inside the building made goosebumps stand out on her legs and arms. Nancy didn’t see anyone in the small room at ground level, so she raced up the spiral stairwell that curved along the lighthouse’s rounded walls.
She paused at the top of the steps, breathing hard. The stairwell opened into a round room surrounded by windows. It held a wooden table, some lanterns, and a small cot covered with a quilt. Several yellowed navigational charts were tacked to the wall. Bright light spilled into the room through the windows and an open doorway to Nancy’s right. The sound of whistling came from the lighthouse balcony.
Moving stealthily, Nancy made her way to the doorway and peeked outside.
“Mr. Silvio!” she exclaimed, recognizing the master shipbuilder from earlier in the day. “What are you doing up here?”
The dark, muscular man was bent close to an area of the outside wall that had been stripped of its shingles. He was fitting a board over part of the space. At Nancy’s question he put the board down and looked at her with curious dark eyes.
“The electricians were up here outfitting this old place with some new wiring,” he said, nodding toward the fresh, plastic-coated strands threaded into the exposed space. “Someone’s got to repair the damage they did to the outside wall. Our regular carpenter’s gone for the day, so it looks like I’m the man for the job.”
He didn’t seem to know anything about the fallen board. Or was that just an act? Nancy wondered. “One of your boards just fell over the railing,” she explained. “It would have hit the singers if I hadn’t managed to knock it away.”
Vincent Silvio straightened up, his eyes flitting quickly to the lighthouse railing and then back to the piece of wood he’d just put down. “Wait a minute—I left that other board leaning up against the lighthouse wall, not against the railing,” he muttered, half to himself. “How could it have fallen over?” His eyes narrowed as he looked back at Nancy.
“You’re one of the students in the maritime program, right?” he asked. Before she could answer he continued angrily, “If you ask me, you’re all a bunch of troublemakers. You probably threw that board over the railing yourself!”
Nancy bit back an angry retort. He had some nerve, accusing her like that. Or maybe Silvio was trying to deflect suspicion from himself. After seeing how angrily he had acted toward Patricia Newcomb earlier, Nancy thought it was possible that he was behind the sabotage to the seaport.
“You didn’t see anyone else up here?” Nancy asked Silvio, without responding to his accusation.
The master shipbuilder glared at Nancy. “No one—except you,” he replied curtly. Then he returned to his work.
Nancy frowned at Vincent Silvio’s back. She obviously wasn’t going to get any more out of him. Going back inside the lighthouse, she took another look around.
“What’s this?” she murmured, stepping over to a doorway she hadn’t noticed when she’d first reached the windowed room. A small closet was set into the wall behind the stairs. Its door was slightly ajar. The closet held nothing more than a broom and some cleaning supplies, but it was big enough for someone to hide in.
Someone besides Silvio could have knocked the board over the railing while the shipbuilder was working, then hidden in the closet. The person could have sneaked out again while Nancy was talking to Silvio out on the balcony. Once outside, the person could probably slip into the crowd without attracting attention. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask around to see if anyone saw someone leave the lighthouse.
Nancy glanced back toward the balcony. She wasn’t about to let Vincent Silvio off the hook yet. From now on she was definitely going to keep an eye on him.
• • •
“That’s the best flounder I ever had,” Nancy said after dinner that night.
“We get it fresh off the fishing boats when they come into the commercial docks in downtown Bridgehaven,” Claire explained.
Over dinner Nancy had gotten to know the four other girls besides Claire who shared the student house. Rochelle was a tall girl with dark hair and coffee-colored skin. Her roommate was a quiet, red-haired girl named Kristina. Nancy’s other two housemates, Evelyn and Gayle, were both blond. They all seemed nice, but Nancy knew there was a chance that one of them was a saboteur.
The six girls had just finished doing the dishes and were relaxing in their living room. Brightly colored throw pillows offset the room’s worn furniture, and the walls were decorated with cheerful posters.
Nancy reached for a handful of popcorn from a bowl on the coffee table. Trying to keep her tone casual, she said, “I heard someone wrecked one of the seaport displays here.”
“Everyone thinks a student in our program did it, you know,” Rochelle said, tossing a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.
“You don’t have any idea who it was, huh?” Nancy asked.
Gayle shrugged, resting her feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Not for sure. But after what happened when we were sailing today, I have a pretty good idea.”
Gayle had to be referring to Deke Ryan, Nancy thought. He had been near the lighthouse that afternoon, too. Unfortunately, none of the people gathered to hear the singing had seen anyone leave the lighthouse. Nancy was about to ask her housemates more about Deke when a voice called out from the front door.
“Yo, what’s up?”
Nancy looked up to see a boy’s muscular form silhouetted behind the screen door. The door opened, and Deke Ryan strode into the living room. He was followed by a thin boy with spiked black hair who wore a red T-shirt and baggy plaid shorts. Claire introduced him as Tom Chin. Nancy had found out during dinner that the boys were staying in another house owned by the seaport, just up the street.
As the girls called out greetings, Deke crossed the living room and perched on one arm of the couch. “Anyone up for some fun tonight?” he asked, reaching over to grab some popcorn.
“Just because you like to get into trouble doesn’t mean you have to drag everyone else into it, too,” Claire said, frowning at him.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said sarcastically. “I forgot I was talking to Little Miss Bookworm.”
Evelyn frowned, tugging on the end of her blond ponytail. “So maybe Claire does study a lot. It’s not her fault that the rest of us are bigger goof-offs than she is.”
Deke’s blue eyes held a challenging gleam as he glanced around at the others. “Come on,” he urged. “You can’t get into trouble if you don’t get caught.”
Some of the girls giggled, but Claire let out a disgusted snort. “I’ve got studying to do,” she told him. With that, she got up, grabbed her knapsack from the floor, and stormed from the house.
Tom shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Maybe we should stay low, Deke,” he suggested. “Especially after what happened last time.”
With a disappointed shake of his head, Deke said, “I guess I’m on my own.” He got up and walked out the door with an arrogant swagger.
Nancy couldn’t believe Deke was so proud of being a troublemaker. Maybe he was just putting on an act to get attention, but she didn’t want to take any chances. If Deke was up to no good, Nancy was going to make sure she and George did all they could to stop him.
“I guess I’ll head to the library, too,” she fibbed, getting to her feet. She quickly said goodbye to her housemates and Tom Chin, then hurried out the door.
In the deepening shadows of dusk, Nancy headed down the narrow road that led to Arcadia Street, where the seaport was located. After consulting her map to see where George was staying, she made her way past the seaport entrance to a blue house a few streets down.
George was sitting on the front steps with two girls who wore shorts and blue Bridgehaven Seaport staff shirts. Nancy guessed that they were George’s housemates.
“Hi, Nancy!” George called out when she saw her. She turned and said something to the other two girls, then trotted over to Nancy. “Did you get any leads today?” she asked in a low voice.
“Two,” Nancy replied, thinking of Vincent Silvio and Deke Ryan. “I want to stake out the seaport tonight to see if I can snare one of...”
Nancy’s voice trailed off as she spotted a familiar figure across the street. The two-story building appeared to be a rooming house, with a porch running along the second floor and doorways dotting both levels. Cap Gregory had just emerged from one of the doors on the second floor.
Seeing him, Nancy suddenly recalled the way Cap had stormed off right before the board was shoved off the lighthouse. “Make that three suspects,” she corrected. “Come on, I’ll have plenty of time to tell you about them once we find a spot for our stakeout.”
• • •
Ten minutes later Nancy and George were crouched next to a hedge near the docks. The seaport’s main gate was locked now, but they had entered by way of the back gate Mrs. Newcomb had mentioned. In the darkness Nancy didn’t think anyone would see them. The old-fashioned iron lamp posts didn’t provide much light, but as Nancy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out several buildings and the docks where the antique ships were moored.
Keeping her voice at a whisper, Nancy told George about her suspicions of Deke Ryan, Vincent Silvio, and Cap Gregory. When Nancy told her friend what had happened at the lighthouse that afternoon, George’s eyes filled with concern.
“Wow. So now it looks as if the saboteur is going after people, not just things,” George said. “But I don’t know if Vincent Silvio is the person we’re looking for. He really seems to care about all the old ships here. Why would he wreck them?”
“I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted. “But he doesn’t seem to like Mrs. Newcomb. He sure gave her the cold shoulder at the shipyard this afternoon. Maybe he’s—”
Nancy broke off as the sound of feet crunching on gravel came from somewhere nearby. She and George crouched lower behind the hedge.
When she saw the familiar spindly shape on the gravel walk, Nancy drew her breath in sharply. “Cap Gregory,” she mouthed silently to George.
The captain walked past the girls’ hiding place, then looked furtively around as he approached a wood-shingled building set back slightly from the water’s edge. Cap put on his glasses and peered closely at the door. Then he pulled a pocketknife from his pocket, fiddled with the lock until it opened, and slipped inside.
“Nancy, what if he’s going to damage something in there?” George whispered urgently. “We have to do something!”
Nancy’s attention was suddenly diverted by a loud noise from the docks behind them. She whirled around, squinting toward the shadowy area surrounding the old ships moored there.
“Look, there’s someone else,” she hissed, pointing. George turned just as a dark figure bolted like a rocket from one of the ships.
Nancy didn’t waste a second. “Stay here and keep an eye on Cap,” she called to George.
Her feet pounded on the gravel as she tore after the figure. Nancy saw the person’s head turn in her direction for just a second, but in the dim light she couldn’t see who it was. Then the figure picked up speed, shooting in between two of the buildings across from the docks.
Breathing hard, Nancy skirted around a tree and shot into the small alleyway between the two buildings, where the figure had gone. She gasped as her toe caught on a root, sending her flying.
“Whoa!” she exclaimed, holding out her hands to break her fall. She hit the ground, then pushed herself quickly to a sitting position and tried to catch her breath.
The sound of the footsteps had faded. The person had gotten away!
Rising to her feet, Nancy brushed the dirt from her knees, then went back to find George.
“Whoever it was got away,” she reported. “Is Cap still there?”
George shook her head. “He just left, but he wasn’t carrying anything,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to look inside until you got back.”
With a nod toward the docks Nancy said, “I want to check out that sailing ship first. The person who ran from it was definitely up to no good. It couldn’t have been Cap, since he was in that building, but Cap could be working with someone else.”
The two girls tried to make as little noise as possible as they walked back to the docks. Nancy was struck by the overwhelming feeling that someone was watching them, but she didn’t see anyone. Shaking herself, she turned her attention back to the boat.
The sailing ship had two masts, Nancy saw. A sign on the dock said that it was the Westwinds, a fishing schooner from the late 1800s. The wooden planks of the ramp squeaked under the girls’ feet as they walked up to the deck. Once there, Nancy paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the space. Then she and George began searching for anything that looked unusual.
“No damage up here,” George announced a few minutes later. She pointed to a raised cabin near the rear of the ship. “The stairs over there lead below.”
The girls descended a set of narrow, steep stairs. A shaft of moonlight filtered through the doorway, throwing a faint yellow glow over the area near the stairs.
Nancy paused at the foot of the stairs as her gaze fell on a wooden box that lay upside down on the floor. It was very ornate and decorated with gold wire in an intricate design. Bending down, Nancy turned the box right side up and opened the lid.
“Oh, no!” George exclaimed.
The box looked like a portable writing desk with several compartments built into it. The lid was lined with a rich, shimmering, reddish-orange fabric, but the fabric had been savagely shredded!
“We’d better tell Mrs. Newcomb about this right away,” Nancy said grimly.
Suddenly George grabbed Nancy’s arm. “Nancy, do you hear that?” she whispered.
Nancy froze. Someone was on the deck of the Westwinds! Before she could even think about looking for a hiding place, loud footsteps pounded down the stairway and a blinding light shone in her eyes.
“Hold it right there!” a deep voice growled.
4. Caught!
Nancy felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Blinking into the bright light, she saw a beefy man in a guard’s uniform. As he shone his flashlight on the damaged writing desk, she got a better look at his round, fleshy face and thinning brown hair.
“Caught you red-handed this time,” he told Nancy and George, looking at them with steely gray eyes. “Mrs. Newcomb will have your heads when she sees what you’ve done to the captain’s writing desk.”
“Hey, we didn’t do that,” George said defensively, nodding toward the ripped lining. “We were trying to catch the person who did.”
“Yeah, right. Tell me about it,” the guard scoffed. He wore a dubious expression as Nancy and George explained what had happened.
“Patricia Newcomb asked us to come here to find out who’s been sabotaging the museum,” Nancy finished. “Call her if you don’t believe us.”
The guard crossed his arms over his chest, looking from Nancy to George and back to Nancy. Finally, he pulled a police-type radio from his belt and spoke into it.
Nancy exchanged a frustrated glance with George. She was beginning to think that solving this case was going to be anything but easy.
• • •
“Boy, am I glad Mrs. Newcomb was able to straighten everything out,” George said a few hours later. She and Nancy lingered outside the seaport’s back gate, talking over the evening before heading to their different houses.
“Me, too,” Nancy agreed. “For a while, I was afraid the guard was going to call the police.”
The seaport director had come to the Westwinds as soon as the guard called her. After she had examined the writing desk, they had all gone back to the security office to fill out a report. The guard hadn’t been pleased to learn that Nancy and George really weren’t the saboteurs. He had agreed to give the two girls the full support of the seaport security force, but only because Mrs. Newcomb insisted.
“Mrs. Newcomb didn’t seem very happy to learn that Cap Gregory was sneaking around in that building,” George went on.
“I’m just glad that he didn’t wreck anything,” Nancy said.
After leaving the security office, the two girls and Mrs. Newcomb had returned to the building where Nancy and George had seen Cap. The display inside featured the belowdecks that had been salvaged from a commercial ship called the Arcadia Queen. The intricate, carved-wood paneling in the display hadn’t been damaged, but Nancy was still in the dark as to what Cap Gregory had been doing there.
“Mrs. Newcomb did confirm what Claire told me, that Cap was forced to retire from sailing the high seas because his eyesight didn’t meet the seaport’s standards for captaining a ship,” Nancy told George.
“And from what you and Claire heard at the lighthouse this afternoon, he’s definitely bitter about it,” George put in. “Mrs. Newcomb said she was going to talk to Cap about his attitude. Maybe she’ll find out that he’s responsible for the damage, and the case will be solved.”
“I hope so.” Nancy stifled a yawn, then glanced at her watch. “It’s after ten-thirty. I think we’d better call it a night.”
After saying goodbye, George continued down Arcadia Street toward the house where she was staying. Nancy turned up the side street that led to her student house.
The living room was filled with kids when she arrived. All her housemates were there, as well as Deke, Tom Chin, and two other boys. As soon as they saw her, everyone fell silent. Nancy had the uneasy feeling that they’d been talking about her.
“Um, hi, everyone,” she said.
No one answered. After a moment Deke Ryan held up a glass of lemonade he was drinking. “Here’s a toast to Bridgehaven Seaport’s newest criminal—Nancy Drew!”
Nancy stared at him, dumbfounded. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she didn’t like it. “What are you talking about?” she asked when she finally found her voice.
It was Claire who answered. “Come off it, Nancy. Deke told us all about how the guard caught you after you wrecked that captain’s writing desk. I can’t believe I thought you were nice.” Claire’s voice was angry, and her blue eyes held an icy glare. The other kids were also looking at her as if they didn’t trust her.
“I didn’t do that,” Nancy protested. She instinctively opened her mouth to defend herself—then clamped it shut again. Whatever happened, she couldn’t blow her cover.
“Look, I admit I got caught on the Westwinds. It’s such a great boat, I couldn’t resist exploring a little,” she fibbed. “But the desk was already ruined when I got there. Besides, I didn’t even get to Bridgehaven until today— after the ship’s clock was taken and the whaling display was damaged.”
She looked around the room, trying to gauge the expression on the other students’ faces. It was obvious that none of them believed her.
Nancy’s eyes narrowed as they landed on Deke. He returned her gaze without flinching. She couldn’t help wondering how he knew she had gotten in trouble in the first place—unless he had been somewhere nearby himself. Deke Ryan was looking more and more like her top suspect.
• • •
The following morning before her first class, Nancy went to the Bridgehaven Seaport Bookstore to get the textbooks she would need for the maritime program. The bookstore was located among a cluster of buildings just outside the booth where visitors paid to enter the seaport. Nancy passed a gift shop and an art gallery and then went into the bookstore.
She paused inside the entrance and looked around. Display tables were set up in the open area near the entrance, featuring big books with glossy pictures of sailboats and seascapes. Around the sides of the room, wooden shelves had been arranged to create small nooks, each holding books for a different subject. A circular stairway to the left curved up to a balcony that was also filled with bookshelves.
A woman with brown hair and bangs stood behind the cash register next to the door. When Nancy asked where she could find the textbooks for her program, the woman directed Nancy to an area of the balcony that was opposite the staircase.
Nancy thanked the woman and went up to the area the woman had indicated. Sure enough, the textbooks were stacked in piles on a table there. She began working her way around the table, taking one of each.
“If I were you, I’d go for a cedar lapstrake construction,” came a voice from somewhere nearby. “That’ll give you a strong, light boat.”
Nancy’s head jerked up as she recognized Vincent Silvio’s voice. Apparently he was in the next nook, the area on sailboat design. He seemed to be talking to someone else about building a boat.
“I was thinking the same thing myself,” said a second, deeper voice. “What design do you recommend?”
“My own twenty-foot racer is as sleek a boat as you’ll ever hope to find,” Silvio said confidently.
There was a pause before the other person spoke again. “What about Pat Newcomb’s new design—the Windseeker? I’ve heard those are doing quite well.”
Suddenly the air crackled with intensity. “Patricia Newcomb never designed a boat that could even float well, much less win a race,” Vincent Silvio boomed in an outraged voice. Nancy was startled at how bitter he sounded.
“The only reason the Windseeker is selling is that I created it,” Silvio went on angrily. “That dirty thief Newcomb stole my design!”
An Angry Shipbuilder
Nancy listened in shocked silence to Vincent Silvio’s outburst. A moment later she saw him stalk around the balcony to the circular stairs. His fists were jammed into his pants pockets, and a scowl darkened his face. He drummed angrily down the steps. Then the door to the bookstore opened and slammed shut, and he was gone.
What a temper, Nancy thought. She peeked around the bookshelves in time to see a blond man walking after Silvio. Nancy heard him mutter, “Some people!” before he took a thin book down to the woman at the cash register.
Now at least she knew why Vincent Silvio hated Patricia Newcomb so much. Nancy hadn’t realized before that they both designed sailboats. Silvio obviously thought that Mrs. Newcomb had stolen one of his designs.
This put a whole new angle on the case, Nancy thought as she finished collecting the books for her courses. She would definitely have to talk to Mrs. Newcomb and find out more about the rivalry between her and Vincent Silvio. She supposed it was possible that the seaport director had stolen his designs. Still, that didn’t justify wrecking the seaport’s valuable displays.
Nancy did a double-take as she glanced at her watch. Maritime literature class started in just five minutes! Her questions would have to wait.
• • •
By the end of the morning Nancy’s head was swimming. The maritime literature class had studied Moby Dick. Then, in marine science class, the instructor reviewed the scientific research techniques the class would be using the next day. The group was going to spend the day on the Seafarer, a one-hundred-foot re- search sailing ship.
The classes had taken place in a conference room in the library, with Nancy and the other students sitting around a large round table. As everyone gathered up their books, Nancy turned to Rochelle, who was sitting next to her.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow’s trip,” she said. “I’ve never been on a sailboat that big before.”
“Mmm,” Rochelle said, barely looking at Nancy. She turned to say something to one of the boys in the class, ignoring Nancy completely.
With a sigh Nancy got up and left the library. The other kids in the maritime program seemed to be convinced that she was bad news. She hated feeling like an outcast, but at least the other students wouldn’t question her when she spent time away from them on the case. Nancy decided to find George to talk about Vincent Silvio’s outburst.
When she got to the shipyard, Nancy saw that George was feeding a board lengthwise into a big table saw. A young man wearing jeans, a staff T-shirt, and a leather work belt was supervising her.
Nancy waited until the board had been cleanly cut before she went over to her friend.
“Hi, Nancy. What’s up?” George greeted her, taking off her safety goggles and brushing sawdust from her T-shirt and cutoff jeans.
“Not much,” Nancy said. She didn’t want to bring up the case in front of George’s coworker. “Can you take lunch now?” she asked.
George looked expectantly at the young man, who glanced at his watch. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll let Silvio know. Oh—and if you’re looking for the greatest hero sandwiches in the Northeast, try Augie’s. It’s right on Main Street.”
The young man gave her directions. Then, taking the board she had cut, he headed for the other side of the shipyard building.
George got her shoulder bag from a row of lockers near the door, and she and Nancy left the seaport. After walking the few blocks to the main street of Bridgehaven, they turned onto it and crossed over a drawbridge that spanned the Arcadia River. Looking upriver, Nancy could see the masts of the Benjamin W. Hinton back at the seaport. Downriver were commercial docks, where shrimpers and other fishing boats were moored. Straight ahead, stores and restaurants stretched along both sides of the main road.
Augie’s was an informal sandwich shop about halfway down the block. The two girls ordered heroes and some sodas at the deli-style counter, then sat at one of the small tables.
Once they were seated, George studied Nancy and raised an eyebrow. “I can tell by that look in your eye that something else has happened, Nancy,” she said. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”
Nancy laughed. “You know me too well,” she said. Then, becoming more serious, she told George what she had overheard at the bookstore.
“Wow,” George said when Nancy was done. “Silvio was fuming about something when he got to the shipyard this morning.”
George took a bite of her hero, her brow furrowed in concentration. “He complained to one of the guys that Mrs. Newcomb stole some design of his that’s turned out to be a hit with small boat builders. Apparently they both sell the designs in a store here in town.”
“I’m not sure if he’s just being paranoid, or if she really did steal his designs,” Nancy said. “I guess I’ll have to ask Mrs. Newcomb about it, but I’m not looking forward to bringing up such a touchy subject. Did Silvio say anything about wanting to get back at Mrs. Newcomb?”
George shook her head. “Not that I heard.”
“It could be an important lead,” Nancy said, taking a sip of her soda. “We’re already here in town. What do you say we try to find that store?”
“I’m game,” George agreed.
The two girls quickly finished their sandwiches, then hurried back out to the street. They continued down the stretch of gift stores, clothing boutiques, and small restaurants.
“Over there,” George announced, pointing across the street.
“Bridgehaven Wooden Boats,” Nancy said, reading the sign above the storefront George had indicated. The window featured an elegant small-scale wooden sailboat, rigged with two sails.
She and George quickly crossed the street. Pushing through the door, they found themselves in a bright, airy store filled with woodworking tools, rudders, and other boat parts. Displays along two walls were filled with designs for sailboats. A middle-aged man with a short-sleeved shirt stretched taut over his potbelly stood behind a counter against the right wall.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said, going over to him. “I’m looking for a design by Patricia Newcomb. I think it’s called the Windseeker.”
“Hey, didn’t Vincent Silvio design that boat?” George said, giving Nancy a secret wink.
Good going, George, Nancy thought. If there was anything to Silvio’s claim, perhaps the store owner knew about it.
The man behind the counter let out a chuckle. “Vincent Silvio would love to claim all of Pat Newcomb’s designs as his own, but there’s no truth to it,” he said. “There tends to be a lot of jealousy among boat designers.”
Moving from behind the counter, he crossed over to the display of designs and plucked out a plastic package. “Here you go. The Windseeker, by Pat Newcomb,” he said, handing it to Nancy.
“Not that Vincent doesn’t make a fine boat himself from time to time,” the man went on. His finger slid over the display until he found a second design package, which he passed to the girls. “This twenty-foot racer is one of the nicest, fastest little boats I’ve ever been on.”
Nancy was only half listening. Her attention was focused on the picture of a sleek, small sailboat on the front of the second package. Flipping it over, she saw that there was a chart that gave the dimensions of the boat and some other statistics. A boxed-in notice at the bottom of the package read, “For other designs by Vincent Silvio, write to...” It gave an address at 48 Elmwood Street in Bridgehaven.
Nancy elbowed George in the side, pointing to the address. Maybe it was time to visit Vincent Silvio’s house and see if they could find evidence of the seaport sabotage there!
A moment later, the girls were on their way. Following the directions the store owner had given them, they soon found themselves on a residential street a few blocks from Main Street. Number 48 was a narrow, two-story red house with a steeply sloped roof. Nancy was relieved to see that there was no car in the driveway.
She and George crept around to the back of the house. Nancy pressed her face to the window of the back door and stared into an empty kitchen. “The coast is clear,” she told George. “At least so far.”
The door was locked. Nancy pulled her wallet from her jeans pocket, took out a credit card, and went to work on the door. A few moments later she heard a click and pushed the door open. She and George slipped inside.
For a moment they stood listening. When Nancy didn’t hear anything, she started toward the front of the house, gesturing for George to follow her.
“If you were Silvio, where would you hide a ship’s clock?” Nancy whispered as they walked quietly down a short hallway toward what was obviously the living room. A flowered couch was set up against one wall, facing a TV set. The wall was lined with framed blueprints of sailboat designs. Nancy guessed that they were boats Vincent Silvio had designed himself. An arched doorway on the other side of the room led to the front hallway.
George shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe—”
She broke off as the front doorknob rattled.
“Nancy!” George hissed, a look of panic in her eyes. “It must be Silvio!”
Nancy gulped as she heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock. She and George were going to be caught red-handed!
Close Call
Nancy’s eyes frantically searched the living room. When her gaze landed on the hallway that led to the kitchen, she spotted a doorway. She vaulted toward it.
“Quick! In here!” she whispered to George.
Nancy threw open the door, and both of them scrambled in, knocking jackets from their hangers in their haste. Nancy was just pulling the door closed when she heard the front door open.
Nancy froze, hardly daring to breathe. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure whoever was out there would hear it. The closet door had a louvered panel, and stripes of light filtered in, illuminating the tense look on George’s face.
Hearing a noise in the living room, Nancy pressed her face close to the louvered panel and peered out. Vincent Silvio was sitting on the couch. In his hands was a large paper bag with something bulky inside it. When Silvio took the item from the bag, Nancy saw that it was an intricate wooden ship’s model about two feet long.
One glance at George, and Nancy knew the same question was on both their minds: Had Silvio stolen the model from the seaport?
As Nancy watched, the master shipbuilder examined the model closely. Then he put it down on the coffee table and got to his feet. He was heading straight toward the closet where she and George were hiding!
She fought down a bubble of fear as Silvio paused in front of the closet door. Then he opened a door right across the hall from the closet, and she heard him clunk down some stairs.
Nancy heard George’s sigh of relief. “Let’s get out of here!” George whispered urgently.
Nancy didn’t have to be told twice. Moving as silently as possible, she and George tiptoed out of the closet and through the kitchen. Nancy cringed as the back door creaked open. Once they were out, she quickly closed it. Then she and George skirted around to the road, keeping close to the shrubs that surrounded the house.
“Phew! That was close,” George said when they were back on the main street. “Nancy, did you see that ship’s model?” she added, her brown eyes wide. “I bet he took it from the seaport.”
“We’ll have to tell Mrs. Newcomb about it,” Nancy said, nodding. She glanced at her watch. “That’ll have to wait until later, though. Right now I’ve got to head to the Benjamin W. Hinton for a sail handling demonstration. It starts in about ten minutes.”
As they crossed back over the drawbridge, Nancy glanced upriver at the seaport buildings. A reddish-brown corner of the shipyard building was just visible behind a stand of trees.
As Nancy gazed at the building, a thought occurred to her. “Do you know which locker at the shipyard is Vincent Silvio’s?” she asked George.
George nodded. “Sure. It’s got his name on it.” Then a glimmer of understanding lit up her eyes. “You’re not thinking of checking it out, are you?” she asked anxiously. “I mean, what if he comes back and surprises us again?”
“We’ll just have to hope that he doesn’t,” Nancy said firmly.
The walk back to the seaport took only a few minutes. When the two girls entered the shipyard building, Nancy was relieved to see that only two carpenters were there. They were working on the boat shell she had seen earlier, on the opposite side of the building from the lockers.
Stepping over to the lockers, Nancy saw that several of them were labeled with name stickers. “Silvio” was printed on the top left locker in faded, scratched paint. There was no lock on the door. Quickly Nancy pulled open Silvio’s locker and looked inside.
The master shipbuilder’s leather work belt hung from a hook. A dirty T-shirt, a pair of gloves, and a crumpled-up paper bag were in a pile below. Nancy sifted through the things, but she didn’t see a ship’s clock or any indication that Silvio was the person who had sabotaged the displays or the captain’s writing desk.
“Nancy! Check this out!”
George’s urgent whisper came from the end of the row of lockers. Nancy hurried over to find her friend pointing at a two- pronged metal tool on the ground behind the lockers.
“See that fabric?” George said excitedly. “Doesn’t it look familiar?”
Nancy drew in her breath when she spotted the scrap of silky, reddish orange material wedged in between the tool’s two claws.
“It’s from the lining of the captain’s writing desk!” Nancy bent down and picked up the fabric, tucking it into her jeans pocket. “We can’t prove that Silvio is the one who left it here, but he sure seems like the best candidate.”
George nodded. “Did you find anything in the locker that would prove it was him?”
Nancy shook her head. “I can’t stay and look any more, either,” she replied. “I’m already late to join my class at the dock.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be able to find time to do some more snooping this afternoon,” George assured her. “If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
• • •
A warm breeze whipped through Nancy’s reddish blond hair as she hurried across the seaport’s green toward the docks. Her classmates were already gathered on the deck of the whaling ship Benjamin W. Hinton, laughing and joking around. Cap Gregory was on the dock, talking to Vincent Silvio in hushed tones.
As she hurried up the ramp to the deck, Nancy eyed the two men suspiciously. Both of them had expressed bitterness toward Patricia Newcomb. Were they up to something together? Was it possible that Silvio had sabotaged the Westwinds while Cap Gregory was in the other display area?
When Nancy reached the deck, she saw that Claire was sitting by herself, avidly reading a hardcover library book. Glancing up at Nancy, Claire said, “We didn’t see you back at the house for lunch, Nancy.”
“I, uh, decided to check out downtown Bridgehaven,” Nancy said. It would probably be better not to go into any details, she decided.
Claire gave her a probing look. “I guess studying isn’t as important to you as having fun.”
Nancy blinked. There was no mistaking her roommate’s disapproving tone. Obviously Claire still didn’t trust Nancy.
Deke pushed off from the wooden railing he’d been leaning against and walked over to Nancy and Claire. “Were you just sightseeing?” he asked mockingly. “Or planning your next attack?”
Nancy shot him an indignant glance. “Look, I wasn’t even here when that ship’s clock was taken, and I don’t appreciate—”
“Ahem!”
Nancy turned to see Cap Gregory standing right behind her, his hands on his hips and a disapproving look in his eyes. “All right, crew, settle down,” he said. “We’re here to learn about sail handling, not to bicker. Mr. Ryan, with your family’s distinguished sailing background, I would think you’d know that.”
Deke just shrugged, but Nancy could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. She and the other students listened while Cap gave them a tour of the old whaling ship.
First he showed them four small whaling boats that hung from curved rails arching over the ship’s railing. They could be lowered into the water at a moment’s notice if a whale was spotted, Cap explained. Nancy cringed when she saw the Hinton’ s huge blubber hook and the iron vat that was used to boil down the blubber into whale oil right on deck. After the blubber and tusks were taken, the whale’s carcass was left at sea.
“I had no idea whaling was so gruesome,” Kristina commented, cri