False Notes

by Carolyn Keene

  Checking my watch, I wondered if it was too late to call Ned. His classes at the university didn’t start for a couple of weeks, but he was still working part-time at the Bugle. Deciding to risk waking him, I called his cell phone, so as not to disturb the rest of his family.

  He picked up after a couple of rings. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said.

  I could almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hey,” he said, sounding very much awake. “How are you doing, me?”

  “Fine,” I said quickly. “Listen, what do you have planned for tomorrow? Do you have to work?”

  “Not until after lunch,” Ned said. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  I took a deep breath, realizing that I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d uncovered my new mystery. “Well, it’s sort of a long story,” I began. “But I just had an idea.…”

  The next day Ned picked me up after breakfast.

  “Did you set it up?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

  He slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at me. “Yep,” he replied. “Called first thing this morning. I’m due at the office at nine thirty. We should be right on time.”

  I smiled, relieved. “Great.”

  So far my new plan was working out perfectly. I crossed my fingers, hoping that the rest would go as well. I’d asked Ned to set up an interview with the CEO of Rackham Industries, claiming that he was researching an article about local businesses. Since Mr. Nickerson owned the Bugle and Ned had been writing for the paper all summer, there was no reason why Ned writing the article wouldn’t be plausible.

  “I just hope they aren’t too surprised when you show up with me,” Ned said. “I told them I was bringing an assistant. Chances are he’s going to recognize you, you know.”

  I nodded, knowing that was a chance I had to take. One of the side effects of my amateur sleuthing is that I’ve become sort of well known around town. My picture has been in the paper more than anyone’s except maybe the mayor’s, and people I hardly know sometimes stop me on the street to ask if I’m working on any interesting mysteries at the moment.

  “We’ll figure something out,” I told Ned as he pulled away from the curb. “I really want to be there when you talk to him. If something fishy is going on between Granger and Rackham Industries, he might let something slip.”

  I checked my watch, making a mental note to keep track of the time. I was supposed to check in for my charity duties at noon. That didn’t give me much time.

  “So what are you going to do with this info if you get it?” Ned asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I guess it depends on what we find out. If it’s juicy enough, it might be time to hand over the case to the police and let them take care of the rest.”

  I still wasn’t sure that was a safe option as long as Leslie was still missing. The more I thought about the case, the more serious it seemed. Deadly serious.

  “Maybe I’ll talk to Dad first,” I said. “My gut tells me he already knows about the case—and he probably knows whether there’s a ransom note and what it says and everything. I’m sure he can help me figure out what to do.”

  Ned nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it yet, anyway,” he said. “You don’t want to count your clues until they’re hatched. Or found. Or something.”

  I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but somehow his words made me more anxious than ever.

  A few minutes later we entered the Rackham Industries headquarters—a large glass office building in the heart of downtown River Heights. The security guard at the front desk directed us to the CEO’s suite on the top floor. “Just take the elevator all the way up,” the guard said. “There’ll be someone at reception up there to buzz you in.”

  When we stepped out of the elevator, though, there was no one in sight behind the clear glass doors at the end of the elevator bank. Ned tried one of the handles, but the door was locked.

  I pointed to a little device on the wall beside the doors. “Looks like you need a card key to get into this floor,” I said. “Or someone at the desk has to buzz you in, like the guard said.”

  “Weird.” Ned glanced at his watch. “We’re right on schedule. They know we’re coming. So where is everybody?”

  I looked around. Through the glass doors, it was easy to see that there was no one seated behind the large, crescent-shaped reception desk. Beyond the desk there was a small waiting area, and behind that, a large door with a brass nameplate reading JACK HALLORAN, CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER, RACKHAM INDUSTRIES.

  “Maybe we should pound on the glass until Halloran hears us and comes to let us in himself,” Ned joked.

  I smiled. “Too bad Bess isn’t here—she could just pick the lock,” I said, remembering her performance the night before.

  “Probably not,” Ned corrected. “These sorts of security systems are all electronic nowadays. We need George for this kind of thing.”

  Just then, an attractive, middle-aged woman came into view on the other side of the doors. She spotted us immediately, let out a gasp, and hurried to push open the glass doors.

  “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, sounding a little flustered. “I had no idea.… You must be Mr. Halloran’s nine thirty appointment. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

  “It’s okay,” Ned replied politely. “No big deal.”

  The secretary shook her head. “Well, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I just stepped away from the desk for a moment.” She glanced at the desk, seeming perturbed. “Irresponsible brat of an intern,” she muttered under her breath, so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it.

  Then she turned back to us with a brilliant, professional smile. She invited us to take a seat in the waiting area while she let the CEO know that we were there.

  A moment later she ushered us into the CEO’s office. Mr. Halloran was a tall, burly man with a quick smile and a hearty laugh. He shook Ned’s hand and then mine, seeming unperturbed by my unexpected presence.

  “You’re Carson Drew’s girl, aren’t you?” he asked. When I nodded, he grinned. “Good man, that Carson. Plays a mean game of golf, too.”

  “Yes, he loves the game,” I said politely. “I hope you don’t mind my tagging along. I’m thinking of taking some journalism classes, and Ned offered to show me the ropes a little.”

  “No problem.” Mr. Halloran sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Ask away, you two.”

  So much for my hopes of being incognito, I thought while Ned pulled out his mini–tape recorder and a notebook. I only hoped that my reputation as a detective wouldn’t make Halloran too cautious about what he said.

  The interview began. Mr. Halloran answered all of Ned’s questions easily, without a hint of hesitation or concern. He seemed a little surprised when I blurted out a few questions of my own, but answered those as well. I asked him about Granger and his possible plans for Rackham Industries. Halloran merely shrugged off all such issues as rumors.

  Finally, as Ned started thanking Halloran for his time, I blurted out one last question in desperation. “Mr. Halloran,” I said, “do you know Leslie Simmons?”

  The CEO looked surprised by the sudden change of topic, but he nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “I’ve known her parents for years, and I’ve heard young Leslie play the piano many times. I’m a big fan of classical music, and of talented new musicians—especially local ones. Did you know that Rackham Industries is sponsoring that young musician’s scholarship to the conservatory?”

  As a matter of fact, I hadn’t known that. It was an interesting twist, but did it mean anything? Ned and I listened politely as Halloran rambled on about his music collection for a minute or two, then wrapped up the interview. I was ready to admit that it seemed to be a big dead end. I was willing to bet that Halloran had no inkling of any plot having to do with Granger or the Simmonses. But was that because it didn’t exist, or was Granger just
even more clever than I thought?

  I was musing over that thought as Ned and I stepped through Halloran’s office door into the reception area. The sound of the secretary’s irritated voice met us. She seemed to be scolding someone.

  Glancing at the desk, I saw a pretty, dark-haired girl about my age sitting in one of the chairs. She had a pout on her face and was rolling her eyes as the secretary continued to chide her.

  “Deirdre Shannon!” I blurted out in shock.

  Advances and Retreats

  Sure enough, the girl behind the desk was Deirdre Shannon, the richest, snobbiest girl in town. Just our luck.

  “What are you doing here?” she and I said to each other at the same time.

  She scowled at me. Then she noticed Ned, and her expression played through an interesting range of emotions—from surprise to delight to embarrassment.

  I hid a smile. Deirdre had always taken great pride in her family’s wealth, never hesitating to show off her expensive car or the latest fashions. It had to be mortifying for her to be caught working like a regular person—especially by someone she couldn’t stand, which would be me. Deirdre and I had known each other for years and years, but even back in kindergarten we’d mixed about as well as oil and water.

  As usual Deirdre hid whatever vulnerability she might be feeling by going on the offensive. “What are you snooping around here for?” she demanded, glaring at me.

  “Deirdre!” The secretary sounded shocked. “Miss Drew and Mr. Nickerson had an appointment with Mr. Halloran. There’s no need to be rude to them.”

  Deirdre tossed her dark hair behind her shoulder. “You don’t know nosy Nancy. She’s always up to something—like spying on me, for instance.” She turned and smiled coquettishly at my boyfriend. “Of course, it’s always cool to see you, Ned, no matter what the reason.”

  Ned shot me an amused glance. He knows that Deirdre’s huge, ongoing crush on him is a constant source of entertainment for me and my friends.

  “Thanks, Deirdre,” he said pleasantly. “So what are you doing here, anyway?”

  Deirdre shrugged, and annoyance—or maybe embarrassment—creased her brow once again. “Oh, my parents are friends with Halloran from the country club,” she said. “For some reason, they thought it would be a good idea for me to try an internship here this summer. It’s a totally lame idea, you know? I tried to talk them out of it, but…”

  She looked so uncomfortable and humiliated that I almost felt sorry for her. For Deirdre, being caught working is probably like anybody else being caught stealing candy from babies. She’d probably never live this down.

  “So, Deirdre,” I blurted out, my sympathy overcoming my usual distaste for her. “As long as you’re here, maybe you can help me out with something. My dad’s birthday is this week, and I’m having trouble finding a gift for him. Your father must be almost as hard to shop for as mine—do you have any ideas?”

  Deirdre looked startled. “I don’t know,” she said. “What about a new pair of skis? That’s what I got my dad last year.”

  “Hmm! Good idea,” I said, even though I knew my father wasn’t particularly interested in skiing. “I’ll think about that. Thanks. Come on, Ned—we’d better get going.”

  A moment later, as the elevator doors slid shut in front of us, Ned glanced at me. “Okay, what was all that about?”

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “That,” he said succinctly. “Asking Deirdre for advice back there.”

  “Oh.” I grinned and shrugged. “Well, you have to admit, she does know a lot about shopping.”

  ••••

  As Ned drove me to my volunteer project, we talked over what we knew about the case so far. It still wasn’t much.

  “I’m not sure what to do next,” I admitted as Ned stopped at a red light. “No matter what I try, I’m not finding anything I can use. I’m still sure my theory is right, but how am I supposed to prove it?”

  Ned shrugged. “Good question. Too bad Halloran was a dead end. If you’d come up with any evidence that Granger was angling to take over Rackham Industries and using the mayor’s office to do it, even Chief McGinnis would have to listen to you.”

  “I know.” I frowned, thinking hard. “But how else can I get that kind of evidence? Maybe I should try to talk to Granger himself.”

  Ned shot me a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “That doesn’t seem like such a great idea,” he said. “If Granger really is the kidnapper, you don’t want to let him know you’re on to him—or you might disappear too.”

  I chewed on my lower lip. “But he wouldn’t have to know,” I said. “I would just need to be subtle.…” Suddenly I sat up straight. “I know. Deirdre!”

  “Huh?”

  “Deirdre’s family belongs to the country club,” I reminded Ned. “So does Granger. And I’m pretty sure the Simmonses do too. If I could finagle an invitation out of Deirdre…”

  Ned snorted. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” he said. “Seriously, Nancy, you’re really not even sure yet that your kidnapping theory is right. Do you really want to put yourself through the Deirdre Experience only to have it turn out that Leslie’s just visiting relatives or something?”

  I was about to argue, but I sighed instead. I had to admit that he had a point. Hunch or no hunch, I didn’t have any solid evidence that there was actually a mystery to be solved.

  “I guess you’re right,” I said heavily. “I just wish I knew for sure where Leslie Simmons is right now.”

  “I know.” Ned sounded sympathetic. “Well, maybe she’ll turn up soon and you’ll have your answers.”

  “Her music camp recital is tonight,” I said. “If she shows up for that, I guess this will all be a big false alarm. If she doesn’t…” I glanced at Ned. “Hey, want to go to the recital with me? It’s open to the public—George’s parents are going.”

  Ned shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

  “From what I know about Leslie, she wouldn’t miss that for anything,” I mused, talking more to myself than to Ned. “If she turns up, it means there’s no mystery, and we’ll just have an evening of nice music. If she doesn’t, it will prove that something fishy really is going on.” Seeing Ned shoot me a slightly doubtful look, I added, “For me, at least.”

  I realized it might also give me an opportunity to talk to some of Leslie’s friends and teachers. One of them might know something useful.

  There was no more time to think about it just then. Ned pulled his car up to the university’s football stadium, where my charity group was setting up for a giant fund-raising tag sale. The sale was scheduled to begin the next day and run through the weekend, and was expected to attract thousands of visitors. All sorts of local businesses had donated items or services to be sold or raffled off, and many individuals had contributed as well. I had volunteered to work at the setup and also help run one of the booths the next day.

  After asking Ned to call Bess and George to see if they would come to the recital too, I hopped out of the car, and Ned drove away. Then I sighed and walked into the stadium, feeling a little impatient at the thought of missing out on a whole afternoon of investigating.

  I tried to look on the bright side as I glanced around at the tables piled full of countless donated items, from outgrown tricycles to valuable antique vases and everything in between. I probably wouldn’t be able to do much sleuthing while I was here—but maybe I’d at least be able to find something for Dad’s birthday.

  “So did you find anything for your father?” Bess asked as Ned pulled into a parking space in one of the university lots that evening. She and George were sitting in the backseat, and I was in the passenger seat up front.

  “No,” I said. “I must’ve checked out every table in the place. I had the perfect excuse for browsing: I was in charge of one of the pricing guns. But I didn’t find anything good.”

  I sighed, feeling anot
her pang of guilt about not spending more time shopping. Still, I knew that Dad would understand if he knew what was going on. He knows that I can’t resist a mystery, especially one where someone might be in real trouble. And he knows that I can’t think about much else until it’s solved.

  My friends and I found the hall where the recital was being held. I checked my watch as Ned bought tickets in the high-ceilinged, carpeted lobby.

  “We have about half an hour until it’s supposed to start,” I told Bess and George. “That should give us time to find out whether Leslie is here—and start asking questions if she isn’t.”

  “Yoo-hoo! Girls!”

  I looked up to see George’s parents hurrying toward us through the crowd that was beginning to trickle into the auditorium. Mrs. Fayne was waving and smiling. Mr. Fayne looked slightly disgruntled.

  “You didn’t mention that you and your friends would be here tonight, Georgia,” Mr. Fayne said. “If I’d known, I would’ve made you bring your mother so I could stay home and watch the game on TV.”

  “Oh, stop it.” Mrs. Fayne gave her husband a playful shove.

  George wrinkled her nose at her hated full name. Her parents were just about the only people who could call her Georgia and get away with it.

  “It was kind of a last-minute plan,” she said.

  “Well, I hope you’re not too disappointed,” Mrs. Fayne said, shaking her head. “I just heard that Leslie Simmons won’t be playing tonight after all. The whole place is buzzing about it.”

  “Really?” I perked up. “Are you sure?”

  Mrs. Fayne nodded. “I ran into some women I know from my bridge club. They told me they heard it straight from Leslie’s music teacher, Mrs. Diver. Such a disappointment.”

  Ned returned at that moment from the ticket window. He exchanged greetings and pleasantries with George’s parents. A moment later, the Faynes spotted some other friends and excused themselves.