“I don’t get it,” Nancy said.

“Someone who said he represented Mid-City Insurance hired Connie’s answering service to take their calls. Once a day the man phoned for messages. If Connie received any mail, she was to send it on to a post office box. She said they got one large envelope once a week. That was it.”

“Didn’t she think that was odd?”

Ann snorted. “What did she care? It was a cushy job, and she was being paid well.”

Bess looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should start an answering service.”

“Why not?” Ann said. “Anybody can. Anyway, by tracing who paid Connie, and then tracing the post office box, I finally stumbled onto the parent corporation. That was where several names popped up. Names I’d seen before-all tied to organized crime and all on the board of directors of Mid-City.”

Bess sat down. “It does sound suspicious, but I have to admit I can’t see what they were doing wrong,” she said.

“I couldn’t, either, at first. But I managed to sneak a look at the message log Connie kept on Mid-City. All the calls to Mid-City were from three local businesses.”

“So?” Bess asked.

“There were only calls from these three.”

“Oh,” Nancy said. “You figured at that point that they were paying their premiums to a company that didn’t exist. And that’s when you wrote the articles.”

“Right. And they launched the grand jury investigation.”

“And you testified?”

“I gave them everything I had and was thanked for my cooperation. They dismissed me. Didn’t even press for the name of my source-not then, anyhow.”

“Why’d they change their minds about wanting to know your source?” Ned asked.

Ann looked bewildered. “I’m not sure. I had put the Mid-City thing behind me and was following up a lead on something else. Then someone left a message at the Record for me to go talk to a woman out at Crimson Oaks-that retirement village on Wilson Avenue. It was about Mid-City.”

“Who was she? Why were you supposed to see her?” Nancy asked.

“I never found out. I was just leaving to see her when this man came in and slapped the court order in my hand.”

“The grand jury dismissed you and then issued the court order?” Nancy asked with a puzzled frown.

“Yes. I haven’t gotten anything done since.”

“What did you tell the grand jury this last time?” Ned asked the reporter.

“Nothing. I don’t know who gave me that tip to check out Mid-City. Even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell them. They recessed to give me time to think about it.”

Bess’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do now?”

“Stand behind my First Amendment rights, which imply that a reporter does not have to reveal a source. If it means going to jail, I go to jail.”

Nancy stared at her hands. What Ann had told her was interesting-but interesting enough to frame her father? Someone obviously thought so. And I have to find out who, she mused.

It was late in the afternoon when Carson Drew finally appeared. His face was taut and grim. “Hi, everybody. Sorry it took so long.”

“What’s happened?” Nancy asked anxiously.

“I’ve been arraigned and made bail. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had my fill of this place for one day.”

“What comes next, Carson?” Ann asked as they left the building.

“A pretrial hearing to decide if the evidence is strong enough for me to be bound over for trial. They’ll let me know as soon as a date is set.” He drew in a deep breath of fresh air. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow. All I want to do now is go home. Ann will need a ride,” he said to Nancy.

“Just to the Record,” the reporter said. “If it’s not out of your way.”

Nancy dropped off Bess and Ned and headed for the newspaper. Her father was silent during the whole drive.

When they reached the Morning Record, Ann directed her to the parking lot behind the office, where a battered old Ford was parked against the rear wall. Nancy pulled up behind it.

Carson Drew unbuckled his seat belt and got out. “I’ll call you in the morning,” he said, helping Ann from the back seat. “We’ll see this thing through together.” He shook her hand, then stood watching as she walked toward her own car.

“Whatever I can do, I’ll do,” Ann answered earnestly. “Thanks, Nancy. Hope to see you again soon.”

The sky was dark by then; the parking lot dimly lit. There were only a half-dozen cars on the lot, and none parked near the reporter’s.

Moving with a long-legged stride to the old Ford, Ann dug into her purse for her key and stuck it into the lock. She seemed to have difficulty getting it to work, so Nancy flipped on her brights, hoping it would help.

The beam brought Ann’s car into sharp focus. Just under the grimy tailpipe of the Ford Nancy noticed a small square box, so shiny and bright that the Mustang’s headlights bounced off it. It was much too clean to have been attached to the car for long. What could it be? Nancy wondered.

“Got it,” Ann called as the key finally turned.

“Ann! No!” Nancy acted without thought for her own safety. She wrenched open her door and hit the asphalt running. Ann stared at her in amazement.

Without breaking stride, Nancy hurled herself forward and tackled Ann around the waist. They landed just a few feet from the car.

Nancy’s timing had been perfect. With a deafening roar, the old Ford exploded in an enormous ball of flame.

“Nancy, Nan, girl, wake up.”

Nancy opened her eyes to be greeted by a shaft of sunlight across her face. Rolling over to escape it, she groaned. “Ow!”

Hannah Gruen, the housekeeper who had been looking after the Drews for the fifteen years since Carson’s wife had died, was perched on the side of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“As if I’d gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel.” Freeing an arm from under the covers, Nancy peered down at her bruised shoulder. “Now I know how football players feel after a game.”

Hannah got up and raised the blinds even higher. “At least you’re in one piece.”

“How’s Dad?” Nancy asked, sitting up and wincing. She had hit the ground harder than she thought the night before.

“In better shape than you are-physically, anyhow. He left for the office at seven.”

Tossing the blanket aside, Nancy got up. She glanced at the clock and gasped. “Hannah, it’s after eleven! I should have been up hours ago.”

Hannah folded her arms in her I-want-no-nonsense-out-of-you stance. “You needed your rest. I wouldn’t have bothered you at all, except that I have a message for you and didn’t want to wait any longer to give it to you.”

“What’s the message?” Nancy grabbed her robe.

“Miss Granger called from the hospital.”

“What did she say?”

“Just that you were to phone her as soon as you got up, and by noon at the latest.”

“What time did she call?”

“About nine-thirty. I told her you two were lucky you weren’t toasted.”

Nancy had no answer to that, because Hannah was right. They had been just far enough from the Ford to escape the ball of flame.

Ann had landed even harder than Nancy. She thought she might have cracked a rib, so Carson had insisted that she go to the nearest emergency room. The doctors had shipped her off to X ray and made it clear they wanted her kept overnight.

Carson had been knocked flat by the force of the blast. But he had been lucky because he escaped all injury. A shard of flying glass had sliced through his coat sleeve but missed his arm. All things considered, the three had been extremely fortunate.

A few minutes later Nancy went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table to dial the number Hannah had left for her. Ann answered the phone with an anxious “Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Nancy. Sorry to be so late, but Hannah just woke me. How are your ribs?”