Into Thin Air by Carolyn Keene Page A

followed her back to where she had dropped her sunglasses. They lay on the gravel bed near the metal rail.
    â€œThe guy I chased was wearing sunglasses, too,” Mark said, bending down to retrieve her glasses for her.
    At the moment that he spoke, Nancy spotted something glinting underneath the rail, not far from where she had jumped. She knelt and dug her hands into the gravel.
    She came up with a pair of mangled sunglasses, smashed and missing their stems. They looked as if they had been run over by a train.
    â€œAre these them?” Nancy said, dropping them into Mark’s outstretched hand.
    Mark looked stunned.
    â€œNancy, you’re a genius. You found Johnson’s glasses!”

Chapter

Eight
    L OOK, I’ LL SHOW YOU ,” Mark said eagerly. He dug the photo out of his jacket pocket and showed it to Nancy, holding the ruined glasses beside it. They looked like the ones worn by the man in the photo.
    â€œJohnson’s glasses,” Mark repeated, gloating a little.
    Nancy pursed her lips. “They may be the same glasses,” she said, “but there’s still no proof that the man you saw was Johnson.”
    â€œI told you, he bolted when I saw him!” Mark insisted. “That’s got to prove something!”
    â€œIt could be that when you started staring at him, he got scared,” she said. “I’m not trying to cut you down, Mark, but we have to go overall the angles.” She thought for a minute. “Now, we do know Johnson wore glasses. He had them on in his corporate portrait.”
    Mark held up the sunglasses and peered through what remained of the lenses. “These do look like corrective lenses. You know, if we could get an optician to tell us what strength these lenses are, and then if we found out what Johnson’s prescription was . . .”
    A broad smile spread across Nancy’s face. “You are a detective,” she said, nodding her head.
    Mark returned her smile. He pocketed the glasses. “I’ll check it out.”
    â€œIf they do turn out to be a match, we still have to figure out how Johnson survived a fiery helicopter explosion,” Nancy pointed out.
    â€œWhy don’t we go out to the airport and talk to people there?” Mark suggested. He gestured back to the railroad tracks. “Who knows? Something else might turn up that’s been overlooked.”
    â€œExactly what I was thinking,” Nancy said. She glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s almost noon. Let’s drive out to the airfield. Maybe Bess and George can join us.”
    â€œWhatever you say,” Mark replied, giving her a happy little bow as she stepped in front of him.
    Nancy and Mark found George and Bess at the Marvins’ house. They all piled intoNancy’s car, and twenty minutes later they arrived at the airport. The helicopter service was headquartered in a large hangar that served as a maintenance depot and storage area also. Five helicopters, in various stages of repair, were parked inside.
    The manager, “Mac” MacIlvaney, was working behind a desk in a cluttered office at the rear of the hangar. MacIlvaney was a retired marine officer, tall and broad-shouldered, with short-clipped salt-and-pepper hair. Since Carson Drew occasionally used the helicopter service for business trips to nearby cities, Nancy had met him before.
    â€œHello!” Nancy said, knocking lightly on the door frame before entering the office with her friends.
    â€œWhy, if it isn’t Nancy Drew!” MacIlvaney exclaimed. “What brings you out here? Need a helicopter?”
    â€œSort of,” Nancy told him. “Actually, I’d like to talk to you for a minute if I could.”
    â€œMe?” Mac looked surprised, but gave Nancy a little smile. “What’d I do to rate a visit from three beautiful women?” He winked at Mark.
    Nancy introduced her friends to MacIlvaney.
    â€œSeriously, Mac,”