Gold Medal Murder by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

covering Scott’s exit from the Olympic Arena to pay any attention to us, but still, I didn’t want to take any chances. He’d shot out of there faster than I’d ever seen him go, and given his world records, that was saying a lot.
    Joe jumped into the backseat between Bess and George. I took the front, next to Nancy. In a moment, we were off.
    â€œIt’s good to see you!” I said, and smiled. She was just about the only girl in the world who didn’t make me feel like my tongue was three times too big for my mouth.
    â€œYou too.” She put her right arm around me in a quick hug.
    â€œNancy!” yelled Bess from the backseat.
    â€œI see the truck! I was just saying hi to Frank. It’s all good. Where are we headed?”
    â€œWe’re going to take a left at the next light, get on the 405, and I’ll tell you when to exit. We’re heading to Moonbeam, a diner I read about on
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. It’s supposed to be the dive where all the Hollywood insiders go for their low-key brunches and midnight breakfasts.”
    â€œYes!” squealed Bess. “I want to see how the stars dress on their days off!”
    Once we were on the highway with the top down it was too hard to hear a word anyone said. Instead, I just stared out as the city flew by. It was nothing like Bayport. It stretched on for miles and miles. It felt like a hundred little cities, all strung together by the highway—like Christmas lights. I was happy to see Bess, George, and especially Nancy again. They were great, and always useful to have on a case. Although I was slightly worried—things seemed to get more complicated whenever they were around, and every time we had hung out, one or the other of us had nearly died.
    Finally, we got to the restaurant. George was right when she called it a dive. It looked like it had seen better days… sometime in the 1950s. It had a giant, old-school sign that said MOONBEAM in big blinking letters. Actually, it said MOO AM , because a lot of the bulbs had burned out. But inside, it was all shiny chrome and red leather, with pictures of every celebrity to grace the silver screen in the last hundred years. There were also photos of people I didn’t recognize, mostly men, who were clearly rich and important, with starlets hanging off their arms—gangsters or studio executives, it was hard to tell.
    â€œHi there!” said a breathy waitress as we sat down at our table. She looked like Marilyn Monroe—if Marilyn had cornrows and a septum piercing. “I’m Sugar, and I’ll be your server today.”
    She handed us menus and sashayed back to the counter.
    â€œYeah,” said Joe. “This place is great. Ouch!”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry,” said Bess with a smile. “Did I kick you? My bad.”
    Once we ordered our food, we got down to business.
    â€œSo what are you doing here?” I asked Nancy.
    â€œUhhh… watching the Olympics?” she said with a smile.
    Joe laughed. “You’re a worse liar than Frank!” he said.
    â€œAll right,” said Nancy. “But if I tell you why we’re here, you tell us why you’re here. Deal?”
    I looked at Joe and nodded. It was only fair. Besides, Nancy had proven herself useful on a case more than once. And it sounded like she might already be involved in something.
    Nancy pulled something out of her purse and pushed it across the table.
    â€œOur friend Lexi Adams is one of the Olympic fencers. Her boyfriend, the swimmer Scott Trevor, has been getting death threats. And now she’s started to get them too. We told her we’d come and look out for her.”
    â€œLexi is being threatened, too? Interesting,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, too?” asked Nancy.
    â€œYou guys are working on the Scott Trevor case, aren’t you!” said George.
    I nodded. “Yes—but I’m in deep cover. Even Scott doesn’t know I’m