Free Cold as Ice by Carolyn Keene Page B

said. “Your table is ready. If you would follow me?”
    As she stood up, Nancy glanced over the row of potted plants. Sure enough, she found herself looking straight at William Whorf—and he was returning her gaze. Apparently he recognized her because he gave her a nod. Nancy barely had the presence of mind to smile. William Whorf, she thought. The diamond ring and stickpin he had been wearing at the museum opening—the museum director saying that Whorf was an avid collector of famous jewels—a new theory hit Nancy with the force of a Mack truck.
    What if Whorf had stolen the empress’s jewels to add to his private collection?

Chapter

Ten
    N ANCY’S HEAD WAS REELING as the headwaiter led their group to a table near the front of the restaurant. As she passed the table where Whorf and his companion were sitting, Nancy quickly studied the other man. He was no one she had ever met—she was sure of that—but somehow he, too, seemed familiar.
    She racked her brain, but whatever the connection was, it kept slipping away from her. Whoever he was, it sounded as if Whorf was trying to pressure him into some kind of deal.
    Nancy shook her head, pushing their conversation out of her mind and turning her attention to the long list of intriguing dishes on the menu. Butshe was so distracted that she barely tasted her sole amandine or heard the conversation at the table. It was more important than ever that she talk to Whorf. But since she couldn’t do anything about it now, she decided to relax and enjoy the rest of her dinner.
    â€œI think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Bess exclaimed, as she polished off the last bit of her filet mignon with béarnaise sauce.
    When they had finished their entrees, the waiter brought them the dessert menu. “Oooh, they have profiteroles,” said Bess. “I had them once and nearly died! Imagine, a plateful of tiny pastries like cream puffs but filled with ice cream and covered with hot chocolate sauce.”
    â€œImagine an extra five zillion calories,” George said. “I think I’ll just have the fruit cup.”
    â€œHey,” Jerry said, “how often do you come to Winter Carnival? I say we have profiteroles all around!”
    George shook her head. “Not for me, thanks.”
    â€œNor me,” Nancy said. “I’ll just share Bess’s.” She laughed at her friend’s stricken look.
    A light snow was starting to fall when they left the restaurant. The flakes glistened as they drifted past the street lamps. “This is a magical night,” Nancy said. “If it weren’t so late, I’d love to take a long walk through the snow.”
    Ned gave her a mysterious look. “I have abetter idea,” he said, taking her arm. “A little surprise for everybody.”
    He led them back to Emerson Hall, an administration building that was the original home of the college. As they approached the building, Nancy heard the high-pitched sound of tiny bells and guessed Ned’s surprise.
    There in front of the hall was a horse-drawn sleigh of red and green with gold trim. The driver, who was wearing a long black cloak and a top hat, got down from his seat to help them in. There were two wide seats, both facing forward.
    Jerry turned to Ned. “Why don’t we all scrunch into the front seat and let you and Nancy have the rear one? Is that okay?”
    â€œSure,” Ned agreed. “But will you have enough room?”
    â€œIf we don’t, that’s part of the fun,” Jerry replied. He grinned at Bess, who blushed.
    Nancy climbed up into the rear seat and sat down close to Ned. “What a wonderful idea this was,” she murmured, nestling her head against his shoulder. She straightened up to let the driver cover their legs and feet with a plaid blanket of thick, warm wool, then settled back again.
    â€œDoes anybody know what the temperature is?” Bess