Free Club Dread by Carolyn Keene

This one had an underwater theme. One whole wall was a giant aquarium, with all kinds of fish, from tiny pink ones the size of my finger to a giant yellow-and-green-striped fish that was bigger than my head. There was even an octopus hiding at thebottom of the tank, trying its best to blend in with the coral around it. There were more than seventy fish in total. And I know, because I spent all morning counting them, too excited and nervous to do anything else.
    â€œSo you think this Petrovitch guy might be in league with Nikitin?” Bess asked me, leaning on one of the couches that looked like coral but was much softer and more comfortable. She was wearing what I thought of as her “action Bess” outfit—a pair of frayed jean shorts, sneakers, and a pink tank top. On anyone else, it would have looked boring. On Bess, it looked like it could have come straight from a runway in Paris. We were all dressed to investigate—shorts we could run in, our hair pulled back. For the time being, our vacation was officially over.
    â€œMaybe. It seems like it would be possible. But we need something that would connect them. I mean, I’ve never even seen them together. But Petrovitch was pretty angry at the guests here, and Joe seemed certain Nikitin was involved.”
    George, as usual, was on her computer. I thought she was checking her e-mail, or playing solitaire, or surfing the Web, but I should have known better. She was doing what she did best.
    â€œIt’s funny—I can’t find any records for ‘Andrew Nikitin’ anywhere,” said George, her fingers flying across the keys. “It’s almost like he doesn’t exist. Noaddress, no phone number, nothing. Sorry, Nancy, I can’t get you anything on him. But I did find this.
    â€œIt’s a newspaper article about Jasmina’s assault and robbery. The usual stuff, basically what we already know. But listen to this: ‘There was no sign of forced entry, leading authorities to speculate that the victim knew her attacker.’” George stopped reading.
    â€œHmmm,” I began. “So if it was Petrovitch—”
    â€œIf it was Petrovitch, it would make sense that there was no evidence of a break-in, since she was expecting him,” George finished.
    I nodded. It did seem to fit in with what we knew. And perhaps the robberies were getting more violent because Petrovitch himself was getting angrier and angrier. One thing was for sure, I needed to talk this all over with Joe and Frank.
    â€œHow was your date with Matthias, George?” Bess asked, trying to change the subject and distract us for a while.
    â€œIt wasn’t a date. I mean, not really,” George stammered. “But it was good. He’s definitely a little odd. Uptight, but nice. He showed me all around the swamp. There are some beautiful islands hidden out there. You’d never find them if you didn’t know exactly where to go. And he gave me this present—”
    There was a knock at the door. We all jumped, and then laughed at ourselves. We were a little bit on edge.When I opened the door, a bellhop in a Wetlands uniform was standing there holding a silver tray. It was Thatcher again! He winked at me, and then bowed deeply, enjoying his uniformed role. He lifted the silver lid off his platter and held the platter out to me. On it was a small envelope. I opened it up while Thatcher watched.
    Inside, it read, You are cordially invited to dine today with Mr. Jack Thorton. 4:00 p.m. in the White Heron Restaurant.
    â€œMay I inform Mr. Thorton that you will be joining him?” Thatcher’s rich Australian accent rang out.
    I nodded, too overwhelmed by the silly formality of it to speak. Thatcher smiled, tipped his hat, and left. I was curious to finally meet Mr. Thorton in person. Perhaps he’d have some insight on the robberies.
    As Thatcher got into the elevator, he called out over his shoulder, “Oh, and if