Read Online Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene - Free Book Online Page A

boyhood. My only friend was a kindly old trapper. He took me on long trips into the woods and taught me forest lore. It was from him that I learned to ski and snowshoe and to hunt and fish, too. I guess Uncle Chad became suspicious that the old man knew about the money my grandfather had left me and might cause trouble. So he scared him away.
    “Later on, as soon as I was old enough, I ran off to Montreal,” Chuck continued. “And now I’ve asked your father to be my lawyer. I want him to bring suit to recover my inheritance.”
    “Dad can help you if anybody can,” Nancy said confidently.
    “Yes, I know that. But it’s such a hopeless case. I have no legal proof of my uncle’s dishonesty, Nancy. My one witness has disappeared.”
    “You mean the old trapper?” Nancy asked. “Yes.” Chuck nodded. “And there never was a finer man than John Horn.”
    John Horn! The name of the missing witness! Could there be another such man besides the one in River Heights?
    Nancy decided to say nothing to Chuck of the possibility that she knew the one person who could help him. After all, there was no need of arousing false hopes until she had made a definite check.
    Four hours later, after an exciting evening of conversation and dancing, Chuck left Nancy at her hotel, with a promise to meet her at the ski lift the following morning. She hurried to her father’s room to tell him her discoveries. The lawyer was not in, so Nancy decided to make a long-distance call to her home in River Heights. Hannah Gruen answered the telephone but there was little chance for conversation.
    “I can’t hear a thing you say, Nancy,” the housekeeper protested. “There are two jaybirds chattering at my elbow. I’m so distracted I can hardly think.”
    “Oh, you mean Bess and George?” Nancy laughed. “Put them on the wire, please.”
    “Nancy, I’m so happy it’s you!” cried Bess an instant later. “George and I came over here to spend the night because we thought Hannah might be lonely.”
    “Besides, we had a feeling you might call,” George put in on the extension phone.
    “Tell us what you’ve been doing. Tell us everything!” Bess urged eagerly.
    “Well, I had a skiing lesson this afternoon. My instructor was a client of Dad’s named Chuck Wilson.”
    “And what did you do this evening?” Bess persisted.
    “Chuck and I had dinner together, and danced, and talked.”
    “Hypers!” George whistled. “So you’re calling him Chuck already.”
    “And I suppose this Chuck Wilson is young and very good-looking?” Bess asked. Nancy could detect disapproval in her tone.
    “He is.” Nancy chuckled. “But I don’t see—”
    “I’m thinking of Ned Nickerson,” Bess reproached her. “Don’t you break Ned’s heart, Nancy Drew!”
    “Nonsense,” Nancy countered. “Now listen carefully, Bess. I have a job for you and George. I want you to see that old trapper, John Horn. Ask him if he ever knew a boy named Chuck Wilson.”
    “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow,” Bess promised.
    Nancy was up early the next morning. At breakfast she told her father Chuck’s complete story, ending with the item about the old trapper.
    “That’s a stroke of luck for us.” The lawyer nodded. “If your man proves to be our missing witness, Chuck Wilson may really have a case. You’ve done a fine job, my dear. Are you seeing Chuck today?”
    “I’m meeting him at the ski tow at ten.”
    “Well, have a good time. I’ll join you at lunch. By the way, we have reservations on the five-o’clock train.”
    “I’ll be ready.”
    Chuck Wilson was waiting for Nancy at the ski lift. “You’re going to enjoy jumping,” he predicted. “It’s a great thrill and it might come in handy someday if you’re schussing a mountain and you suddenly come upon a sizable hummock.
    “Now there’s a slope with a big mogul in the middle. Moguls,” he explained, “are big lumps of snow formed from many skiers turning in a certain path on a