Very Deadly Yours by Carolyn Keene Page A

purse, and jumped out of the car. Should she lock her door? No, she’d need to get into the car quickly if she had to go for help. Her first-aid kit, though—she’d better get that—and the blanket. They were both in the trunk. Nancy yanked them out, slammed the trunk closed, and dashed back toward the entrance ramp.
    What was left of the dark blue sedan was lying in a crumpled mass on its back about a hundred feet ahead of her. By some miracle there were no other cars on the ramp. The sedan must have hit the guard rail, ricocheted across the road, and flipped over.
    Nancy was running as fast as she could toward the car, but her legs felt like lead. “Where is everyone?” she moaned to herself. “I know this road is closed, but it is rush hour!” If anyonecould have survived that crash, how would she be able to help him all alone?
    Now she was next to the wreck. Heart pounding, Nancy threw herself down on her hands and knees to peer inside the shattered window.
    The car was empty.

Chapter

Twelve
    N ANCY STARED AT the empty car. Then she slowly rose to a standing position again and looked around her. “Where did he go?” she asked incredulously.
    Had the driver somehow been thrown clear of the car? There was no sign of anyone on the road, and the car’s windshield, though cracked, was still in place. Nancy bent down to look into the car again, just to be certain.
    Then she noticed that the door by the driver’s seat was slightly open. She leaned forward and gave it a gentle tug. From its upside-down position it opened as obediently as if the car had been brand-new.
    â€œSo he just opened the door and walked away,” Nancy muttered. “It’s as simple as that. Well, my friend, you’re still not going to get away.”
    She jumped to her feet. The rain had started up again. A misty haze rose from the pavement and the strip of field bordering it. Beyond the field was the straggly edge of a forest whose trees loomed pale and ghostlike above a tangled mass of underbrush.
    Nancy sighed. If the mysterious driver had somehow managed to hitch a ride, she’d never find him. She did decide to try looking for him in the woods before she went back to her car. She jotted down the wreck’s license-plate number on a small pad in her purse and stepped gingerly into the cold, sodden grass. Instantly her heels sank into the mud. I would be wearing pumps, she thought.
    By the time she had squelched her way across the strip of field, Nancy’s shoes were clammy and her clothes were clinging to her in damp folds. The rain was coming down harder now, and it was getting dark. Nancy was glad there was a flashlight in the first-aid kit. She’d need it.
    Now she was standing on drenched leaves at the edge of the woods, peering uncertainly into the trees. A rivulet of water trickled off a branch overhead and dripped right down her collar. Shivering, Nancy pulled out her flashlight and played the beam back and forth.
    All it revealed were tree trunks, vines, and shadows. Well, what did you expect? Nancy asked herself. She pulled her blazer closer around her and stepped forward into the darkness.
    A branch snapped in the dark ahead of her. Was it a footstep? As she struggled along through the heavy piles of fallen leaves, Nancy was suddenly sure someone was watching her.
    Then a man stepped out from behind a tree into her path.
    â€œBill Stark!” Nancy exclaimed, surprised to see one of the mailroom employees from the Record, the one who had acted so scared during the bomb threat.
    He laughed. “Nancy Drew!” he answered mockingly.
    His pale eyes were glittering in the flashlight beam, and he was shivering uncontrollably. His hands were behind his back as if he were hiding something—a gun? He took another step toward her, but Nancy stood her ground.
    Her mind was racing. How much did Bill know she knew? She had better try to sound as ignorant as she