False Notes

by Carolyn Keene

  Bess was taking it all in too. “Wow, this place is bigger than it first seemed.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered. How were we ever going to find Leslie in time?

  George seemed to be thinking the same thing. “We’re never going find her—not at this crazy hour.”

  “We have to try,” I said with determination. “Come on, I’ll drive slowly. You guys read the names on the mailboxes.”

  We wasted the better part of an hour driving around in the dark, peeking at mailboxes. The more time that passed, the more desperate I felt. I couldn’t believe it: We were here, probably within a few hundred yards of the Sharons’ cabin, but we had no way of knowing exactly where it was.

  For a while Bess and George had shared my sense of urgency. They’d both rolled down their windows, leaning out and squinting at the faded names and numbers on the mailboxes. George had also spent a while grumbling about those mailboxes—if there was mail delivery after all, she couldn’t understand why the addresses weren’t listed on the Net. She even pulled out her computer and checked again, with no more luck than she’d had the first time.

  Every time we thought we were reaching the edge of town, we rounded a curve in the road or turned a corner and found a new row of cabins in front of us. After a while all conversation in the car faded. I would drive from one house to the next, pause just long enough for Bess and George to check for a mailbox name or other clues, and then move on in silence. Soon we were all yawning almost nonstop, and I was starting to wonder how much longer we could go on before we would have to face defeat and crash somewhere for a while.

  As I idled at a stop sign, I checked the clock on the dashboard. It was 5 A.M.

  Well, that’s that, I thought with resignation. We’d never be able to make it back by 8:15 A.M., even if we found Leslie that minute.

  Still, I didn’t want to give up. Not when there was any chance of making this come out right. I decided to drive on, trying to think positive thoughts. Maybe the auditions would run late. Maybe they would let Leslie switch times with someone else. Maybe…

  My head was spinning, partly from the stress of our search and partly from lack of sleep. When I’d spent a good thirty seconds staring at a brown house with a blue mailbox, trying to remember if we’d already checked this block, I decided that I needed some fresh air.

  “I’m going to stop for a sec,” I said. “You know—stretch my legs.”

  Bess mumbled something unintelligible and rested her head on the window ledge. George didn’t bother to reply at all.

  I pulled to the side of the road—there were no curbs or sidewalks in Lake Firefly, just sandy lawns stretching to meet the blacktop—and cut the engine. Glancing at Bess and George, who were both at least half asleep by then, I climbed out of the car.

  My legs felt stiff and a little numb after driving for so many hours without a break. I did a few stretches, breathing in the cool, clean night air, which smelled pleasantly of pine needles and earth. I glanced around at the cabins nearby. One or two of the windows were showing lonely spots of light as dawn approached and the early-rising creatures prepared to meet the coming day. Now that the car motor was off, the buzz of nighttime insects droned lazily around me, and a few birds chirped and whistled. But suddenly I realized that that wasn’t all I was hearing.…

  “Hey!” I blurted out, leaning into the car and poking Bess. “Wake up. I think I know which house we want!”

  Bess and George came awake at once. “Huh?” George said. “How? What do you mean?”

  “Listen.”

  They climbed out of the car and stood beside me. After a moment Bess’s look of sleepy confusion changed to one of amazement.

  “It’s a piano!” she cried. “Someone’s playing the piano!”

  I nodded, grinning. The strains of a familiar classical piece were easy to hear in the early-morning stillness. “Sounds like it’s coming from that house,” I said, pointing to an attractive cedar-shingled cabin across the road and a few houses down from where we were standing.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” George exclaimed.

  Leaving the car where it was, we jogged down the street to the house in question. A light gleamed from one of the front windows. The piano music grew louder as we approached—it was definitely the right house.

  “Come on,” I told my friends, already marching toward the front door. “Let’s do what we came here to do.”

  I knocked on the door. The piano music stopped instantly, and seconds later the door flew open to reveal a slim, pretty teenage girl with long black cornrows and an anxious look on her face.

  “There you are!” Leslie Simmons cried. “I thought you said you’d be here by… wait a minute. Who are you?”

  “Hi, Leslie,” I said with a reassuring smile for the startled girl. “It’s me, Nancy Drew, from River Heights. We’ve met a few times, remember?”

  “Oh, of course!” Leslie said, clearly doing her best to regain her composure. “Hello. Did the Sharons send you to pick me up or something? I was expecting them an hour and a half ago. They were supposed to come get me and take me back to town for an audition.”

  I exchanged a glance with Bess and George. “It’s sort of a long story,” I said. “That’s the reason we’re here.”

  Leslie looked alarmed. “There wasn’t an accident or anything, was there?” she cried, clutching the door anxiously. “Is someone hurt?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” I assured her hastily. “Um, did you say that the Sharons were supposed to pick you up?”

  Leslie nodded. “Mr. Sharon and I arranged it yesterday. He was supposed to come back up here and get me at three thirty A.M. That way we’d have plenty of time to get back to town before my audition time.” She shrugged. “But three thirty came and went, and nobody showed up. And I couldn’t call—there’s no phone in the cabin.”

  “Don’t you have a cell phone?” George asked.

  “No,” Leslie said.

  Ignoring George’s look of amazed disbelief at that bit of information, I focused on Leslie. “Listen,” I told her as gently as I could. “We think you’ve been the victim of some troublemaking. We’re here because we don’t think Mr. Sharon is coming for you at all—at least not until you’ve missed your audition. We’re pretty sure the Sharons invited you up here for that very reason—because they want to make sure that Diane wins the scholarship.”

  “No way!” Leslie said immediately. “Diane is one of my best friends. She wouldn’t do that to me!”

  “Maybe not,” Bess said kindly. “But I’m afraid her parents did.”

  George nodded. “They had it all worked out,” she said. “No phone, no way home on your own—they figured you’d be stuck here until they were ready to come and get you.”

  I shot George a warning look—sometimes she can be a little too blunt—and then gazed sympathetically at Leslie. She looked shocked, confused, and anxious at the same time.

  “Come on,” I said. “Why don’t you grab your stuff and come with us? We can talk about this more in the car.”

  Leslie nodded. “I’ll be right back,” she mumbled. A moment later we heard her rustling around in a back room.

  George leaned against the door and glanced at her watch. “Well, it’s official,” she said, keeping her voice low so only Bess and I could hear. “The Sharons’ plan worked. There’s no way we’ll get her back in time.”

  I checked my own watch, which had stopped. It’s an old-fashioned one that used to belong to my mother, and I’m always forgetting to wind it. Grabbing Bess’s arm, I checked hers instead. It was ten minutes after five. But I refused to believe that we’d come all this way only to miss out on saving the day by an hour.

  “You never know,” I said. “It could still work out.”

  “Come on, Nancy,” George said. “How are we supposed to make a four-hour drive in three hours? Even if we don’t run out of gas this time?”

  “Zip it,” I hissed at George as Leslie came ba
ck into sight with an overstuffed backpack slung over her shoulder. “We’re going to do what we can, okay?” I smiled brightly at Leslie as she reached us. “Ready to go?”

  “I guess.” Leslie closed and locked the cabin door, then followed us to the car.

  Dawn was breaking over the lake as I started the engine. My stomach was grumbling, and my eyelids felt like they were lined with wool. It had been a very long night—and it wasn’t over yet. Stifling a yawn, I pulled onto the road and headed for the highway.

  Bess was sitting in the back with George, while Leslie was in the passenger seat across from me. I glanced over and saw that she was staring blankly out the window. Unlike the rest of us, she didn’t look sleepy—just sad and worried. “Can you tell us exactly what happened?” I asked her softly.

  She glanced at me. “Sure,” she said. The truth of the situation seemed to be sinking in at last. “It was all Mrs. Sharon’s idea—the rehearsal retreat up at the cabin, I mean. She said it would give Diane and me a chance to really focus on our music for a few days without any distractions. We didn’t want to miss the recital at our camp, but she insisted that the auditions were more important.” She shrugged. “I thought she was right, but I still felt bad about leaving Mrs. Diver in the lurch.”

  “So where did Diane go?” George asked from the backseat. “You said she was up here with you, right?”

  “Her dad came to get her yesterday morning,” Leslie explained. “She had a dentist appointment back in River Heights. But he said I should stay for one last night, since I’d have a more peaceful night’s rest, and more time to practice on their piano—it’s a really nice piano.” A note of admiration crept into her voice.

  “Didn’t you think that was sort of strange?” George asked. “Him making this long drive twice in two days, I mean?”

  “Of course!” Leslie said. “Diane and I both thought it was totally weird. But he insisted. And I had no reason to think there was anything wrong.”

  “But what about your parents?” Bess asked. “They’re really worried about you.”

  Leslie turned to stare at her. “What?” she said. “Why would they be worried? They knew where I was.”

  “I’m afraid they didn’t,” I told her gently. “They’ve been frantic. As far as they know, you just disappeared.”

  Leslie gasped. “I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “Mr. and Mrs. Sharon told me that my parents knew all about the retreat. They said my parents had thought it was a great idea!”

  “Was that why you didn’t write much in the note you left?” Bess asked her.

  George shot her cousin a scoffing look. “Keep up, Bess,” she said. “Isn’t it obvious? Leslie didn’t write that note. Her folks even said it didn’t look like her handwriting, remember?”

  “Note?” Leslie sounded confused. “What note?”

  We explained it to her. “The Sharons must have planted it at your house somehow,” I finished.

  She looked shocked. “I can’t believe they would do something like that! This is terrible. I can’t believe my parents have been worrying about me all this time.…”

  I felt sorry for her. George offered Leslie her cell phone so she could call home. Soon Leslie was sobbing into it as she explained the whole situation to her parents.

  I clenched the steering wheel and pressed down a little harder on the gas pedal, more determined than ever to get her home in time for that audition.

  12

  Results and Rewards

  Despite my good intentions, it was almost 10 A.M. when we drove into River Heights. We’d gotten lost once after leaving the highway for a bathroom break, and then as we neared River Heights we’d been caught in snarled rush-hour traffic. Leslie had called her parents several times to report on our progress, and they had promised to meet us at the conservatory.

  They were standing on the sidewalk outside the building when I pulled into the closest parking space. I was so exhausted I barely had the strength to turn the key to cut the engine, but Leslie immediately bounded out of the car and flung herself into her parents’ arms.

  After a few noisy, confusing moments of happy reunion, the family pulled apart. “Well?” Leslie asked her parents hopefully.

  By that time Bess, George, and I had dragged ourselves out of the car. I waited with bated breath, hoping for some good news.

  But it looked like we wouldn’t get it. Clay Simmons shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he told his daughter. “Your mother and I tried every which way to convince them to wait for you. But they insisted that the audition times were final, and that there would be no makeups.”

  We all went inside the conservatory building, still hoping for some sort of miracle. But we soon learned that the last round of auditions had just ended. The judges were conferring. A few minutes later it was official: The award had been won by a flautist from West Heights.

  “At least those rotten cheaters the Sharons didn’t win,” George muttered with some satisfaction. “Their plan failed.”

  I was glad about that too, but it didn’t make me feel that much better. I could tell that Leslie’s family was feeling the same way.

  “Oh, well,” Leslie said, trying to sound cheerful and failing miserably. “I’m sure there will be other scholarships.”

  Her mother pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she whispered into Leslie’s hair. “We’ll find some way to pay for your training. I promise.”

  Leslie looked up at her. “But how?” she asked. “The conservatory is so expensive.…”

  “I don’t know,” Heather admitted, glancing at Clay, who was standing helplessly nearby. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out somehow.”

  I was feeling depressed as we all said our good-byes and prepared to go our separate ways. As I fished the car key out of my pocket, I realized it was now officially my father’s birthday.

  Oops, I thought, more dejected than ever. So much for finding the perfect gift. I’d be lucky if I could stay awake at his party that night. The very thought made me yawn. Gift or no gift, I needed to get some sleep. I was just too tired to shop. Dad would have to understand.

  I invited the Simmonses to the party, and they promised to come. Maybe that would help take their minds off everything, I figured sleepily as Bess, George, and I headed back to my car. Or maybe Dad would be able to help them somehow when he heard what had happened.

  “Too bad the Sharons are so deeply in debt,” George commented as she strapped herself into the front seat. “Otherwise your dad could help Mr. and Mrs. Simmons sue them for enough money to pay Leslie’s tuition.”

  I smiled slightly. Obviously she’d been thinking along the same lines as I had. “I thought of that, but I’m not sure it would work,” I said. “Leslie’s still a minor, but she went up there of her own free will. It would be her word against the Sharons’.”

  “What if Diane testified for Leslie?” Bess wondered from the backseat.

  I shrugged. “A teenager testifying against her parents? I don’t know.”

  We fell silent after that, each of us thinking our own sleepy thoughts as I drove through downtown River Heights. The business day had started, and everywhere we looked people were bustling around looking perfectly normal—and awake. Our long drive up to Lake Firefly already seemed like a strange, hazy dream.

  After dropping off my friends at their homes, I headed back to my house. Dad had long since left for work, and Hannah had left a note on the refrigerator saying she was at the supermarket picking up supplies for that night’s party. Grateful at not having to explain anything just then, I headed straight upstairs and fell into bed, barely pausing long enough to kick off my shoes.

  I was so tired that my head was spinning, making me feel a little dizzy. Spots floated on the backs of my eyelids, dancing to the tune of the classical piece Leslie had been playing when we found her.

  Suddenly my eyes flew open and I sat bolt upright. For the first time in hours, I smiled.
I’d just had a perfect idea. Maybe I wasn’t able to fix Leslie’s problems. But if my latest plan worked out, at least one thing that day wouldn’t be a total disaster. I reached for the phone on my bedside table.

  I spent most of the day sleeping, awaking a few hours before the party feeling refreshed and optimistic about the evening’s festivities. Every time I thought about Leslie’s lost scholarship, my mood sank a little; I still wished I could figure out a way to help her. But I was determined not to let such worries spoil my father’s special day. I threw myself into the party preparations with all the energy I could muster, setting up tables and chairs near the grill in the backyard and helping Hannah prepare mounds of delicious food.

  Bess and George arrived a little early to help out too. Soon the backyard looked festive and beautiful. Party lights blinked from the bushes, and bright bouquets of flowers were everywhere. When Dad arrived home from work, he was amazed.

  “Wow,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders and planting a kiss on top of my head as he looked out the kitchen window at the backyard. “I know you said we were having a little cookout for my birthday. But I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

  I hugged him. “You deserve it, Dad. Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “So what’d you get me?” he asked playfully.

  “Now, now,” I joked back, waggling a finger at him. “You’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  As he headed upstairs to change clothes, the doorbell rang. “Party’s on!” George exclaimed.

  A group of neighbors were the first guests to arrive, led by Harold Safer, who had brought some buffalo-milk cheese for the party. Soon Bess and George’s parents and siblings turned up, and then Lucia Gonsalvo appeared, bearing a large platter of homemade pasta salad.

  Dad came back downstairs to greet others as they appeared. Chief McGinnis came with his wife, and Ned brought his family along. Various clients, friends, and neighbors of Dad’s kept arriving until it seemed that half the town was in our backyard.