Deadly Intent | Chapter 6 of 19 - Part: 1 of 3

Author: Carolyn Keene | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 1213 Views | Add a Review

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NANCY AND HER father entered the twenty-third-floor office of Ann Nordquist’s agency. The walls were papered with posters of foreign places.

“I love to travel,” Ms. Nordquist explained, after Carson Drew had introduced her to Nancy and explained that Nancy wanted to speak to her for a few minutes. She ran a perfectly manicured hand through her pale blond hair. “I just got back from a tour of mainland China. And the first thing that happens is—that.” Ann Nordquist gestured to the day’s newspaper Nancy had brought along. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” replied Nancy. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. Ms. Nordquist, Roger Gold told me that you and Barton had been, well, quite frankly, having some problems working together. Something about royalty money.”

A tiny frown appeared on Ann Nordquist’s forehead. “I wouldn’t exactly say we were having problems. You have to understand that royalty revenue is a complicated business. It goes through many channels and often takes some time before it ends up in the artist’s pocket. I don’t think Barton quite understood that. He felt he was getting shortchanged.”

“And he wasn’t?”

“I don’t think so, not unless something irregular is going on at World.”

“They’re my next stop,” Nancy said. “Maybe you could tell me the names of the people there who handle Barton and Bent Fender.”

“Certainly. In fact, I’ll make a list for you.” The agent reached for a piece of paper, and Nancy studied the attractive woman as she wrote. She had a pleasant, straightforward manner, and she seemed open enough. But Nancy wondered whether there was more to her disagreement with Barton than she’d let on.

“Here you are.” Ann Nordquist pushed the list toward Nancy, a half-dozen names written out in her neat, round handwriting. “I ought to warn you about Harold Marshall. He’s not the easiest man to deal with.”

“Well, I’ll try my best,” Nancy said. She and Ann Nordquist chatted with Carson Drew for a few minutes, Ann confirming some of the things the members of Bent Fender had said about Barton—that he tended to be publicity shy, and that he had indeed picked himself up and vanished on two occasions without telling a soul.

“That makes finding him all the more difficult,” Nancy told her, “because if he has been kidnapped, there are going to be plenty of people who won’t believe it.”

“Like the little boy who cried wolf,” Carson Drew supplied.

“Exactly.” Nancy stood up to go. “Well, I’ll leave you two to do your business. Ms. Nordquist, thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you can track Barton down quickly. We’re all awfully worried about him.” Ann Nordquist extended her hand to Nancy. “I hope next time we’ll meet under more pleasant circumstances.”

“I do too. By the way, would any of the people on this list fit these descriptions? A tall, heavyset man with straight dark hair, but balding slightly. Or a shorter man with dark wavy hair, possibly wearing a gold ring in the shape of a dragon or sea monster?” Nancy looked up from her notes on the two men who had been seen backstage.

Ann Nordquist thought for a few seconds. “I don’t believe so. No.” She shook her head.

“Okay. Well, thanks again.” Nancy said goodbye and walked the ten blocks to World Communications’ offices. Normally, she would have been thrilled to be on the streets of New York, watching the stream of people and window shopping, but that day she walked quickly, her mind on Barton Novak as she weaved through the crowds. Had he been kidnapped, as Roger Gold suspected, or had he gone on his own, as the rest of the band seemed to think?

Soon, World Communications loomed up in front of her, an imposing steel and glass tower with uniformed guards at the door. Not again, Nancy thought, recalling the guards at Radio City Music Hall. She prepared a little speech, but was surprised when the guards let her in with no trouble. In fact, though she found out no new information about Barton, the people at the company were happy to answer her questions. That is, until she got to the last person on the list Ann Nordquist had given her—Harold Marshall.

She opened the door with his name on it and found herself standing before a stylish, sharp-featured young woman of about her own age. The woman’s dark hair gleamed with henna-red highlights, and her blue sweater was cut low in the front.

“Yes?” The woman looked up from her desk.

“I’d like to see Mr. Marshall, please.” Nancy smiled.

The young woman did not smile back. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I’d like to speak with him about Barton Novak.”


“I’m investigating his disappearance.”

“Mr. Marshall is a very busy man, Miss—”


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Great book, nicely written and thank you BooksVooks for uploading

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