Strangers on a Train (Nancy Drew Diaries #2)(9)

Bess grinned, squeezing his hand. "Don’t get your hopes up, sweetie,” she said. "This gold-panning place is just a tourist spot right here in town. It’s not exactly breaking new ground in the next gold rush.”



George glanced up from fiddling with the laces of her sneakers. “Still, gold’s gold,” she said. "Scott said this place guarantees we’ll each get to find some real gold in our pans.”

"Yeah. Like three granules of gold dust, probably,” Bess said.

As they continued squabbling amiably, I glanced forward. We were at the tail end of the large group of Arctic Star passengers making its way from the train station to the next activity in Skagway. Scott was at the front, leading the way.

My gaze lingered on him. He was back in professional mode, smiling and helpful, with no hint of the terrifying anger I’d seen. Could George be right? Had my exhaustion—not to mention my obsession with this case—made me see something that wasn’t there?

I forgot about that as the crowd shifted and I spotted another familiar figure. It was Fred. He wasn’t part of the group heading to the gold-panning place—instead he was scurrying along the sidewalk across the way with his hands in his pockets and his head tucked down between his shoulders. Almost as if he didn’t want to be seen. Interesting.

George finally finished tying her shoe. “Come on, let’s hurry,” she said. "I want to make sure I get the best gold-panning spot.”

"You guys go ahead,” I said. "I, um, need to find a restroom. I’ll meet up with you in a minute.”

"You sure?” Alan said teasingly. “Don’t expect us not to steal your gold if you take too long, Nancy!”

I forced a smile, trying to keep Fred in view out of the comer of my eye. “I’ll have to take my chances. See you in a bit.”

By the time I pushed my way through the eager, gold-crazed crowd around me, Fred had disappeared. I hurried off in the direction I’d last seen him going. Whew! I spotted him again as soon as I rounded the next comer. He was just a few yards ahead of me, moving fast.

I fell into step behind him, doing my best to keep a few people between us. Good thing. Halfway down the block, Fred stopped abruptly, then turned and peered behind him. Oops.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to see me. But it reminded me to be careful.

I continued to tail him. It wasn’t easy. He stopped and stared around suspiciously every few moments. What was he doing?

Finally he ducked into a large souvenir shop. I waited a moment, allowing a few other people to pass before stepping inside myself.

The place was cavernous and crowded, packed with tourists pawing through tables overflowing with T-shirts, key chains, stuffed animals, and every other imaginable form of souvenir knickknack.

But where was Fred? I glanced around but couldn’t see him anywhere. Outside, his brightly colored Hawaiian shirt had made him easy to spot. In here, surrounded by every flavor of colorful tchotchke? Not so much.

I moved deeper into the store, dodging a sticky-looking little girl cooing at a stuffed arctic fox and several loud, excited women with Boston accents exclaiming over some salmon jerky. Still no sign of my quarry.

Then I spotted a flash of orange and red toward the back of the store near an oversize stuffed grizzly bear wearing a Skagway souvenir hat and an apron emblazoned with the Alaskan flag. Hurrying closer, I finally spotted Fred.



He was huddled behind the bear, deep in conversation with Sanchez, the fired busboy!





CHAPTER FOUR




Unpleasant Surprises



MY HEART POUNDED AS I CREPT CLOSER to the stuffed bear. Fred appeared to be doing most of the talking. But he was keeping his voice too low for me to hear what he was saying.

"Nancy! Hey, Nancy! Over here!” a voice yelled loudly, cutting through the din of the souvenir shop.

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing. It was Wendy the blogger. She was rushing toward me, clutching her laptop under one arm as she used the other to wave vigorously at me.

Biting back a groan of dismay, I quickly turned toward Fred and the busboy. But they were gone.

By then Wendy had reached me. "Hey, girl,” she said breathlessly. “What’s up? Shopping for some new shades?” She grinned.

“Huh?” Glancing down at the nearest table, I realized it was filled with garish novelty sunglasses. "No, just looking around.” I sneaked another glance around the store, but Fred was nowhere in sight. Had he skedaddled when he’d heard Wendy’s bellowing and realized I was watching him? If so, what did that mean? Did he know I was investigating, or was he just trying not to let anyone see him talking to the fired busboy?

“Cool.” Wendy grabbed a pair of moose-print socks off another table. “Wow, some of this stuff is tacky.”

I wasn’t sure she had much room to talk, given her usual crazy thrift-shop style. But I was less concerned with her fashion choices than with her position on my suspect list. Deciding to try to salvage the situation with a little subtle interrogation, I gave her a friendly smile.

"So what are you doing here?” I asked. "I thought everyone was still down the street learning to be gold panners.”

“Oh.” Wendy tossed the socks back on the table. "Nah, I did a gold-panning thing like that in California once and it was kind of lame, so I decided to save my pennies this time.”