Free Danger for Hire by Carolyn Keene Page B

began.
    The woman’s face lit up. “Haven’t I seen your name in the paper? Aren’t you the girl detective they’re always writing about?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Nancy confirmed. “And I’m trying to help a friend.”
    â€œWhat do you want to know?” the woman asked, smiling.
    â€œWarehouse workers eat here a lot, right?” Nancy asked.
    â€œThey’re our main customers,” the cashier affirmed.
    â€œDo the security guards ever come in, too?”
    â€œSometimes.”
    Nancy nodded encouragingly. “Do they ever talk about the companies they work for? Do they ever complain?”
    The cashier laughed. “Nancy, every worker complains!”
    â€œWhat about the security guards, though?” Nancy persisted.
    â€œWhy don’t you ask that guy over there.” The cashier pointed.
    â€œThanks,” Nancy said.
    The man was in his late forties and had a ruddy complexion. He was drinking coffee at a Formica-topped table by the window. Although he wasn’t wearing a uniform, a Loomis & Petersen jacket was hanging over the back of his chair.
    A newspaper was open in front of him. He was reading the want ads, Nancy saw. “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions?”
    â€œWhat for?” the man inquired without looking up.
    Nancy ran through the same routine that she had with the cashier. Satisfied, the man offered her the seat across the table.
    â€œThanks,” Nancy said, sitting. “You work for Stan Loomis?”
    â€œNot anymore,” the man said glumly. “Laid off a week ago.”
    Nancy lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”
    â€œThings are tough everywhere, I guess,” the man replied. “Company had to tighten its belt.”
    â€œGee, I’m sorry. How long did you work for him?” Nancy asked sympathetically.
    â€œSeventeen years! Still can’t believe it,” the man muttered.
    Nancy leaned toward him. “You must be pretty angry.”
    â€œWell, I’d rather somebody else got laid off than me, I’ll say that,” the man grumbled.
    Nancy zeroed in on her target. “Would you say Stan Loomis is honest?”
    â€œSure,” the man said without hesitation. “Stan was on the wrong side of the law once. He told me all about it. But he reformed. He’s as honest as my mother—and believe me, kid, that’s honest!”
    Nancy smiled. “I believe you. What about Hayward Security—think you might get a job working for them?”
    â€œWouldn’t want it,” the man said firmly.
    â€œWhy not?” Nancy was surprised.
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Cause I’ve talked to their guards. The pay’s lousy.”
    â€œAny other reasons?” Nancy asked.
    The man stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “Not that I can put my finger on. The guys who work there are kind of—I don’t know, unhappy. They don’t have a lot of nice things to say about the company, you get my drift?”
    â€œI think so. And thanks,” Nancy said, rising. “You’ve been a big help.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    When Cindy Larson arrived at Nancy’s house that afternoon, she asked, “What can I do to help?”
    Nancy slid the telephone toward her. “You can call more discount stores. I’ve listed numbers from the rest of the county. That will free me up to work on our profiles.”
    Cindy’s face fell. “But I’ve called so many already! Isn’t there something else I can do?”
    â€œGetting bored?” Nancy asked with a smile.
    â€œWell, a little,” Cindy admitted sheepishly.
    â€œDon’t get discouraged. You never know when a clue will turn up.”
    â€œI suppose.” Cindy reached for the phone.
    Suddenly Nancy felt guilty. She placed her hand on Cindy’s to stop her from dialing. “Actually, there is something else you could help me with—”
    â€œNot more garbage, I