Free Into Thin Air by Carolyn Keene Page A

mean.” Nancy nodded. “But, see, Mr. Johnson wanted to hire me to paint his apartment. I misplaced the apartment number.” She pointed to 6F. “Is that Mr. Johnson’s?”
    â€œJohnson? Never heard of him,” the woman snapped. “You got the wrong building.”
    â€œMaybe I got the name wrong,” Nancy said, trying to be as pleasant as possible.
    â€œMaybe you mean Wilson,” the woman told her.
    Nancy slapped her forehead. “Of course! Mr. Wilson.”
    â€œWell, it beats me why he wants his apartment painted. It isn’t like he’s around to enjoy it, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œWhy?” Nancy said, puzzled. “Did he go somewhere?”
    The woman stared. “Honey, he sure did. He’s in jail downtown!” She glanced furtively down the hallway to see if anyone else was within hearing distance and lowered her voice. “And, honey, if you want my advice, I’d steer clear of any painting jobs for him. If you want to get paid, that is.”
    Nancy looked indignant. “He’s broke?”
    â€œHe’s as crooked as they come,” the woman said forcefully.
    â€œI can’t believe it! He was so pleasant when I met him. He’s a medium tall man of about thirty-five, right?” Nancy probed. “With a mustache?”
    The woman shot her a puzzled look. “He was thirty-five a long time ago,” she said crossly. “Artie Wilson is sixty if he’s a day. Honey, you got the wrong guy.” Without another word, she stepped back and shut the door.
    Nancy waited a moment, thinking what to do next. She walked to the far end of the hallway and knocked on the door of 6F. No response. Putting her hand gingerly on the doorknob, she turned it. It was locked.
    It’s probably just as well, Nancy thought. If Johnson really was in there, he wouldn’t give me a friendly reception.
    Reluctantly, Nancy turned around and began to go down the stairs. Who is Artie Wilson? she wondered. And what was Johnson doing in his apartment—if it was Johnson that she had seen at the window. She rounded the second-floor stairwell and headed for the final flight of stairs.
    â€œStop right there,” growled an angry male voice.
    Fear shot through Nancy. When she turned around, though, she realized immediately that this wasn’t the man she’d seen in the window. This one had curly black hair, dark skin, and piercing dark eyes.
    â€œYou selling something?” he demanded, blocking her way.
    Nancy stepped back. “Selling?”
    â€œWe don’t allow door-to-door salespeople in this building. I’m the super here, and I want you out on the double.”
    â€œActually, I was looking for someone who lives here,” Nancy said.
    â€œWho?” the building superintendent demanded.
    â€œThe tenant in Six-F,” Nancy told him. “Artie Wilson.”
    â€œWhat are you from, the probation department or something?”
    â€œI’m from social services,” said Nancy, silently thanking the woman in 6R for theinspiration. “I’ve been assigned to Mr. Wilson’s case. I’m trying to help him get a job.”
    The man looked Nancy up and down. “You seem a little young to be a social worker.”
    â€œMaybe,” Nancy said coldly. “Do you have any idea when Mr. Wilson will be in?”
    â€œYou know he’s in jail?” the super said sharply, still eyeing Nancy with suspicion.
    â€œWell, yes, of course. Or rather, he was. Isn’t he out now?”
    â€œYou got your dates mixed up. He’s still in the slammer downtown. But I heard he was going to be out real soon.” The super snickered. “Good luck finding him a job. He isn’t exactly the hardworking type.”
    The super started down the last flight of stairs and Nancy followed. “He was in prison for robbery, wasn’t he?” she asked, taking a wild guess and hoping that it