Swiss Secrets by Carolyn Keene
Erich spoke up quickly. “This has nothing to do with last night,” he said firmly. “It was an isolated incident. And as for last night—well, people sometimes get a little crazy in clubs.”
“A little crazy? That person threatened to kill Franz,” Mick pointed out.
Franz shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe I’m not so popular with some people—like Monique’s parents.” He poked his fork without enthusiasm at the bits of tuna and egg in the niçoise salad on his plate. “They think I’m being unfair to her just because I’m not ready to settle down yet.”
“Do you really believe the Montreux would send a hit man after their own daughter’s boyfriend?” Nancy asked.
Franz grimaced. “It does sound incredible, but I can’t think who else it could be.” He didn’t quite meet her eyes, Nancy noticed. Was he holding something back?
“What about Yves Petiau?” George asked.
Both Franz and Erich whipped around to stare at her. “Yves Petiau? How do you know that name?” Franz snapped.
“Is it some kind of secret?” George asked. “We saw the article about you and him in the newspaper, that’s all. Also your uncle mentioned him back at the house.”
Franz let out a deep sigh. He and his cousin seemed to beam each other a warning signal. “Forgive me,” Franz said at last. He blew out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t mean to be rude.” He jumped lightly to his feet. “And now, since none of us seem to have much appetite, how about a quick game of tennis? The courts are on the other side of the house.”
• • •
“Here we are at last,” George said in a relieved voice. “The Parc de la Grange. No thanks to you, Bess.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault I had the map upside down this afternoon!” Bess protested. “What do you think I am, an air-traffic controller?”
George chuckled. “Definitely not!”
After a quick game of tennis, Nancy, Bess, George, and Mick had said goodbye to the Haussman cousins and returned to their hotel. The three girls had attempted a bit of sightseeing, but the afternoon hadn’t turned out the way they had expected. Instead of seeing the Old City, on the bustling Left Bank, they had somehow ended up at the city’s central post office. They had barely had time to find their way back to the hotel and snatch a bite of supper before it was time to leave for the Parc de la Grange, where the outdoor concert was to be held.
“This place is great!” Nancy said as the girls and Mick walked toward the bandshell at the center of the park. They were just passing a huge rose garden with an eighteenth-century castle behind it. Dozens of picnickers were spread out on the grass. Some were teenagers in T-shirts and shorts who Nancy guessed were waiting for the concert.
“I sort of wish we’d thought to have dinner here,” Nancy said to Mick, turning to look at him over her shoulder.
To her surprise, Mick was staring off in another direction. “Uh—yeah, I guess so,” he said vaguely. “Very nice.”
“Earth to Mick! Earth to Mick!” Nancy teased.
Mick blinked and stared down at her. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—” Suddenly he broke off. “Listen, Nancy, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay for this concert after all.”
Nancy was completely perplexed—and disappointed as well. “Why not?” she asked.
“I—I have to meet someone,” said Mick. His eyes kept veering off in other directions. “I’ll see you tomorrow sometime, all right?” he asked abruptly. He walked rapidly away toward the rose garden before Nancy could say another word.
“What’s eating him?” Bess asked, staring after Mick’s back.
“Beats me,” Nancy replied. “I think maybe he recognized someone, but I don’t know who.”
“Well, don’t worry about it,” Bess told her, scanning the crowd. “He’ll be—Look! There’s Franz!” She stood on tiptoe and waved.
Franz, Erich, Monique, and a girl with dark wavy hair were sitting on the grass about a hundred feet from the bandshell. They waved back as the three girls made their way over.
“This is my friend Claudia Beluggi,” Monique said to the three girls. “We were at school in Zurich together. Nancy, Bess, and George are visiting from the U.S.,” she explained to her friend.
Claudia smiled warmly at the three girls as she shook their hands. “I spent one year in the States myself,” she said. Nancy noticed that her English was very good. “My father is a professor, and he was doing some research at the University of Chicago. Do you know Chicago?”
“Do we know it?” exclaimed George. “We’re from right near there! Our town, River Heights, is only about an hour from Chicago!”
“That’s incredible!” said Claudia. She giggled. “You know, I am from Italy, but I still dream about those deep-dish pizzas you can get in Chicago.”
“They are great, aren’t they?” Bess said proudly. “Still, I’m sure Italy has a lot of great stuff, too.”
Claudia grinned at Bess. “It certainly does,” she said. “In fact, you must be sure to visit me if you go to Rome.”
“That’s very nice of you,” said Nancy. She exchanged a quick glance with Bess and George. “As a matter of fact, we were thinking about stopping in Rome. Our itinerary is pretty flexible.”
“Then you must come!” Claudia said earnestly. “It would be such a pleasure for me! And I’m sure my family would—”
“Here’s the band,” Monique interrupted.
Three boys and a girl walked slowly onto the stage as the crowd sitting on the ground jumped to their feet and began cheering. Without any introduction, the members of the band picked up their instruments and began playing. They looked and sounded a lot like a heavy metal band Nancy listened to back in the States.
Although she wondered about Mick’s odd disappearance, Nancy enjoyed the concert too much to think about him for long. The park was beautiful in the twilight, and it was fun hanging out with Swiss kids her own age.
Running into Franz at the airport really had been a stroke of luck, Nancy thought. She turned to smile at him, then did a double take when she saw his face.
Franz wasn’t paying any attention to the music. Instead, he was staring at a piece of white paper in his hand, and there was no mistaking the expression of horror on his face.
“What’s the matter?” Nancy whispered.
Franz shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. Frowning, he crumpled the paper in his fist, but not before Nancy had a chance to see what was printed on it. In large, block capitals the message said:
GIVE US THE TRUCK ROUTE. OR NEXT TIME WE WON’T MISS.
Chapter
Six
FRANZ!” Nancy whispered urgently. “Who gave you that note? What truck route are they talking about?”
Franz started to reply, but the band started another song, . . drowning him out. Nancy shrugged, then turned her attention to the concert again. Whatever news Franz had would have to wait until the band was finished.
Nancy couldn’t concentrate on the music now, either. She was glad when the band was gone and the last cheers had died down.
“Wasn’t that awesome?” Bess asked, her cheeks flushed.
“A little too awesome,” Nancy commented dryly. “Threatening might be a better word.”
Franz gave her a warning look, then got abruptly to his feet and pointed to an ice-cream vendor some distance away. “I am going to treat us all to ice cream from that man over there.”
“Would you like me to come with you to help you carry?” Nancy offered. This might be just the chance they needed to talk.
“Oh—that is all right,” said Franz quickly. “I can handle it.”
Nancy wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “I insist.”
Franz seemed about to protest further, but then he suddenly shrugged and grinned. “Yes, come, by all means, if it makes you happy. Erich, will you take care of everyone else?”
“With pleasure,” said Erich. Nancy noticed that his eyes linger
The instant Franz and Nancy were out of earshot of the group, Franz said in an undertone, “I did not want Monique to know about the note. She is worried enough already. If she hears that someone slipped a threatening note into my pocket—”
“So someone put the note in your pocket?”
Franz nodded. “It must have happened while we were finding a place to sit down,” he said. “It was crowded, and I remember someone bumping me. I did not see who it was.”
“It sounds to me as if whoever tried to scare us on Lake Geneva is stepping up the threats,” Nancy observed.
“I would have to agree with you.” They had reached the ice-cream vendor now, and Franz gave their orders in such rapid-fire French that Nancy only caught the word vanille.
“You are no doubt wondering about the reference to the truck route,” Franz said soberly as the vendor starting making cones.
“Yes, of course I am.” Nancy had a feeling that Franz was trying to decide how much he should confide in her. On a sudden impulse, she said, “Franz, I am a detective. I don’t want to pry, but if there’s any way I can help you, I’d be glad to. You’ve been so kind to us that I’d like to return the favor—if you can be honest with me.”
Franz hesitated. Then he stared straight into Nancy’s eyes and said, “Very well. I’ll tell you what’s been going on. But I warn you that it does not make me look very good.”
Taking a deep breath, he began. “All right. You remember when I met you in the airport, I was on my way back from Monaco?” When Nancy nodded, he said, “Actually, Erich and I went together. Though he returned a day earlier than I did. We went gambling, but then I—” Franz broke off with a look of self-loathing.
Nancy tried to guess where this was leading. “You told us that the casinos had been good to you,” she recalled.
“It was more complicated than that,” he told her. “At first I did very well—so well that I began to take bigger and bigger risks. What a fool!” Franz exclaimed bitterly. “And, of course, that is when I began to lose. I spent the whole night at the tables, and in the morning I had lost everything I had started out with—and more.”
“Pardon, monsieur,” interrupted the ice-cream vendor. “Vos glaces sont prêtes.”
For a second Franz stared blankly at the man. Then he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, pulled out a bill without looking at it, and handed it over. With the same distracted air, Franz took the tray of ice-cream cones, and he and Nancy began walking back toward the others.
“So, anyway, it was dawn, and I was still at the tables—completely out of money. That was when Bart appeared.”
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Bart?”
“Bart,” Franz repeated. “In a movie, he would play the part of the mysterious American.”
An American, Nancy thought, and the threatening note had been in English. . . .
“Bart was very kind to me,” Franz continued. “He offered to lend me some money—just to tide me over until I started winning again, he said. Well, what could I do? I can see in your eyes what you’re thinking, Nancy—that I should have turned down the loan and stopped gambling then and there. Well, you’re right.”
Franz gave a short, mirthless laugh. He obviously felt awful about what he had done, and Nancy didn’t have the heart to say anything to make him feel worse.
“But I didn’t do the sensible thing,” Franz went on. “I took Bart’s money and started to play again. I won back everything I had lost and more.” He broke off and shook his head.
“So what was the problem?” Nancy asked.
“The problem was that I promised to repay Bart in Geneva. He called me the second I got home—I guess he must have been following me,” Franz said darkly. “Anyway, he told me he didn’t want me to repay him with money. Instead, he wanted me to do him a favor.”
Franz stopped and soberly met Nancy’s eyes. “He wanted me to help him steal a shipment of gold my father’s company will be receiving on Friday.”
“What!” Nancy gasped. “But that’s only four days away! How did he know about the shipment?”
Franz shrugged. “He did not tell me.”
Nancy’s mind whirled, trying to make sense of this. “What’s the gold for? Watches?”
“Exactement,” Franz told her. “Frères Haussman has a line of top-quality gold pocket watches. We make very few of them. There is a waiting list several years long to buy one.
“The gold is delivered by truck,” he went on, “but only once or twice a year. It is an important event for the company.”
“So that’s what the note meant when it mentioned the truck route,” Nancy guessed. “The route the truck will take to deliver the gold?”
“Right,” Franz confirmed with a nod. “Bart wants the date and time of delivery, too. Naturally I said I would have nothing to do with such a plan.”
Franz’s face was flushed as he continued. “I—I may get a little carried away sometimes, but I would never betray my family. Well, as you might imagine Bart was not happy with my refusal. That is why he—he found me at Le Monde last night,” Franz finished.
So that was who Franz’s attacker had been! “I had a feeling you recognized him,” Nancy said. “But why, when you knew who he was, did you accuse Monique’s father of hiring him to hurt you?” Nancy was rather shocked by his actions at the club.
“I don’t know. I just blurted it—I said anything so no one would know I knew Bart. It was rather cowardly of me, wasn’t it?”
Nancy didn’t voice her agreement. “Did you also recognize the driver of that black boat earlier today?” she asked instead.
Franz shook his head. “I never got a chance to see him!”
“Have you told the police about any of this?”
Franz snorted. “They would never believe me—not with my reputation.” He shrugged helplessly.
“What about your parents?” Nancy asked.
“They’re on vacation. Trekking in Nepal,” Franz said bleakly. “My uncle Pascal is handling all of Papa’s business affairs, and—well, you saw my uncle for yourself this morning.”
Nancy smiled sympathetically. “I can see he’s not a person you’d want to confide in. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of faith in you.”
“Not even at the best of times—and, Nancy, this is a very bad time. Last night Uncle Pascal told me that if I keep dragging the family into scandals, he will bar me from Frères Haussman. If he finds out about Bart or what happened in Monaco, I am sure he’ll carry out his threat,” Franz said earnestly. “Believe me, I love my work. I can’t risk losing everything.”
Franz started to say something else, then broke off and stared down at his hand. “The ice cream is starting to melt,” he said, “and the others will wonder what has been keeping us.”
As they began walking back toward their friends, Nancy asked, “You have no way of contacting Bart, I assume?” Franz shook his head. “Then how would you like it if I did some investigating for you?”
Franz’s surprise showed on his face. “But you’re on vacation! I couldn’t ask—”
“I’d love to help,” Nancy said, and she meant it. “If you promise no more lies.” He nodded. “Now, let’s see. We need to think about motive first of all. What about Yves Petiau or Monique’s family? Could Bart be working for one of them?”
“There is a remote possibility, I suppose,” Franz said reluctantly. “Petiau might want to steal our gold. And Monique’s parents—well, they have their little problems with me.”
Nancy nodded decisively. “Then that’s where I’ll start investigating. It’s too late to do anything tonight, though. Could I meet you somewhere tomorrow morning so you could tell me more about them?”
“There’s a sidewalk café across the street from the Frères Haussman building,” Franz suggested. Handing the tray of ice cream to Nancy, he pulled out a piece of paper and jotted down the address for her. “How’s eleven o’clock?”
“Ele
As they approached their friends, carrying the now-dripping tray of ice-cream cones, Nancy’s mind was hard at work. Would following up on the Montreux family or Yves Petiau yield any leads? If it didn’t, where would the investigation proceed from there?
To Mick Devlin? a small voice inside Nancy whispered. Was it only a coincidence that Mick had turned up just when Nancy and her friends had become involved with Franz? What about his strange disappearance that night, just before Franz discovered the threatening note in his pocket?
Was Mick a suspect in this case? Nancy did her best to ignore that thought, but try as she might, she couldn’t shut it out completely.
• • •
“No, Bess,” George said firmly the next morning. “You are absolutely not buying a cuckoo clock. I would totally die of embarrassment.”
“But cuckoo clocks are what people buy in Switzerland!” Bess protested. “As long as Franz isn’t here yet, why can’t I just run across the street and look in that store window?”
“Bess, we wouldn’t be able to afford a postcard from one of these stores,” Nancy said. “I’m not even sure we can afford this coffee we’re drinking, come to think of it.”
It was quarter after eleven. Nancy, Bess, and George were sitting at a sidewalk café on Geneva’s rue du Rhône, a bustling street lined with very tempting—and expensive—shops. The night before, Nancy had filled Bess and George in on the story Franz had told her, and they had volunteered to help. The three had shown up at the sidewalk café promptly at eleven, but so far there was no sign of Franz. They had already finished their coffee, and now they were starting to get restless.
“I hope Franz hasn’t forgotten to come,” Bess fretted. “We have to meet Mick at twelve-thirty, don’t forget. We can’t wait here forever.”
Mick had shown up at breakfast in the hotel’s small restaurant and joined the girls for croissants and coffee. He hadn’t offered any explanation of where he’d been the night before, but he’d asked the girls to visit the Cathédrale de Saint-Pierre with him. He had been so friendly and charming that Nancy had pushed all her doubts about him aside.