Recipe for Murder by Carolyn Keene

entirely. ThenSlesak suddenly shouted, “You had no right to steal the recipes!”
    Nancy’s lips parted. She wished she dared look through the window in the door.
    â€œPsst,” came a soft warning.
    Nancy glanced at Ned and read his signals. Someone was coming! She straightened, looking around for somewhere to hide. There was no place. We’ll have to bluff our way out, she realized as she tiptoed to where Ned was standing. “I can’t find it,” she said out loud, seeing a chef just a few feet from her. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I just can’t find it! I guess I’ll have to come back and try to find it tomorrow,” Nancy said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s go.”
    Ned chuckled as they stepped into the warm evening air. “It’s a good thing that chef didn’t ask you what you were trying to find. Did you hear anything at Slesak’s door?”
    â€œNot much, but one thing may be important.” She reported the pastry chef’s words. “Why do you suppose Jacques stole Slesak’s recipes?”
    â€œMaybe he wants to take a shortcut to success, like Trent Richards. He figured he could use Slesak’s recipes.”
    â€œBut that doesn’t make sense. Jacques already has an excellent reputation. And Claude DuPres made it clear he thinks Slesak is second-rate.”
    Ned shrugged. “Then you’ve got me.”
    Nancy took Ned’s hand as they began walking back to the hotel. “What is the deal with thoserecipes?” she mused out loud. “I wish I’d gotten a better look at them.”
    â€œYou said they were just recipes.”
    â€œThey were. But there was something about them. . . . ” She sighed. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. For now, let’s go take a swim.”
    They got back to the hotel and split up. “I’ll meet you down here in ten minutes,” Ned told her.
    â€œMake it five,” Nancy answered, smiling. She walked quickly to the south wing. There was no one around. As she approached the elevator, movement caught her eye. She looked up in time to see a man hurrying around the corner with some kind of wooden sign.
    The elevator doors opened. Nancy stepped inside and rang for her floor. She leaned against the railing as the doors closed again.
    But instead of making a smooth start, the elevator jerked. A dreadful clanking noise accompanied its progress upward. A sick feeling spread in the pit of her stomach. Something was terribly wrong.
    At the fifteenth floor the car started to slow down. Heart pounding, Nancy squeezed her fingers between the doors, trying to wedge them open. Nothing happened.
    Then the elevator jerked to a bouncing stop. Nancy pounded her fists against the doors. “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”
    The car shuddered once. Nancy pulled on the doors with all her might. Then something snapped, and the car plunged downward at dizzying speed. The elevator cable must have broken!
    She was racing to her death at the bottom of a black abyss.

Chapter

Thirteen
    N ANCY SCREAMED. T HE lights were a blur outside the elevator window. With every second the car gathered momentum, plummeting toward the ground below.
    I’m going to die, she thought, terror-stricken.
    All of a sudden the lights went out—every light, inside and out. The elevator hurtled downward in total darkness.
    Nancy closed her eyes. She was so scared she couldn’t breathe. An eternity seemed to pass in a few seconds.
    Then the car suddenly jerked. Nancy wasthrown to one side. She opened her eyes. Was it her imagination, or was the car starting to slow? Nancy dared not even move a muscle.
    It was slowing! Nancy was so relieved she felt tears sting her eyes. Her mouth trembled as the elevator finally crawled to a shuddering stop. She didn’t move. She was afraid—afraid the car would begin its downward plunge again.
    She was still