If Looks Could Kill by Carolyn Keene Page B

to mention all the criminals with honest eyes she had helped put behind bars. “How was your workout, Bess?” she asked, changing the subject.
    â€œTotal torture,” Bess said, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t lose a single pound—I weighed myself afterward.”
    â€œGo easy on the tartar sauce,” George warnedher cousin, pointing to the broiled tuna sandwich on her cousin’s plate. “Working out isn’t going to do you any good if you slather that stuff on your food.”
    â€œBut it tastes so much better,” Bess moaned. She pushed her plate away and stood up. “I’m out of here, anyway. I’ve got another torture session in ten minutes—low-impact aerobics this time.” With a dramatic groan, Bess stood up and went off to her next appointment.
    â€œI’ve never seen Bess this disciplined about exercise,” George said.
    â€œIt is amazing,” Nancy agreed. “I guess it’s something about being at a spa.”
    Nancy rose from the table, too. “George,” she began, “you said you might want to do some snorkeling. Are you up for it now?”
    â€œSure,” George replied, “but I thought you’d be checking out suspects, not tropical fish.”
    â€œActually,” Nancy said, “I’d like to snorkel out to Christina Adams’s yacht. It may not be as much fun as looking at coral, but it could be a lot more educational.”
    â€œCount me in. I’ll skip the par course,” George said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s get ready.”
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    Half an hour later Nancy and George were down at the scuba shack near the wharf. There they were fitted out with snorkeling gear. “Justwalk down this little beach to the end and wade in,” the staffer at the shack told them. “It’s a short swim out to the reef.”
    The surf was gentler than it was behind the main house, although the sandy beach was much narrower. Nancy and George walked to the very end of it, where the rocks jutted seaward and the underwater trail began.
    Donning their gear, Nancy and George swam out beyond the rocks and the trail, heading toward the opening in the reef that surrounded the island. Christina’s yacht was anchored just outside the reef, in open water near the western end of the island.
    The yacht was enormous—at least seventy feet long. Christina Adams could afford it, though, Nancy thought. After swimming up to the stern of the boat with George beside her, Nancy grabbed onto the bottom rung of a steel ladder on the port side.
    Nancy pulled back her mask so she could examine the exhaust holes of the ship. “If there were engine problems, you’d think they’d have gotten a mechanic from Saint Thomas by now,” she said. “Let’s go on board and have a peek.”
    â€œDo you think it’s safe?” George asked.
    â€œIt seems deserted to me,” Nancy said.
    With that, they climbed quietly on board, took off their flippers, and held them. They found the companionway stairs, and started down.
    They had passed through the main cabin and galley when they heard voices farther down the hall. “That must be the crew, working on the engine,” Nancy whispered. “Let’s listen.” George nodded silently.
    â€œWhat was it supposed to be, Cap’n?” a man asked. “Engine trouble?”
    â€œThat’s what the boss lady said, Charlie,” a second man answered. “In fact, we’d better spike her good before somebody comes out here to check. Should’ve done it last night. Got a monkey wrench handy?”
    â€œSure do, Captain,” Charlie said.
    â€œGood. Let’s see, we’ll just crack something that we’ve got a spare for. That way we can repair it quick when the time comes.”
    Nancy glanced at George, who was staring back at her. The captain and his mate were about to damage