Sabotage at Willow Woods

by Carolyn Keene

  “Let me out!” Carrie’s voice was barely distinguishable in the loud ballroom. “Frankie isn’t telling the truth! JULIA! Why did you lock the door?”

  That finally gave me the motivation to pull my feet from where they felt welded to the floor. I shot a meaningful glance at Bess and George as I went, and they sprang up from their seats and followed me as I ran over past the kitchen, down the hallway, and to the restroom where Carrie was imprisoned.

  “Carrie, are you all right?” called George.

  “I’m fine, but I’m stuck in here!” Carrie yelled back. “Julia must have locked me in from the outside! And I could hear the speech Frankie’s making. . . .”

  Bess was already digging in her purse before Carrie could finish her sentence. Within seconds, she handed me her precious credit card. “You know the rules,” she said, giving me a warning look. “No damage to the magnetic strip. I’ve already asked for two replacement cards.”

  I nodded. “You know I’m a pro, Bess.”

  The card slid easily between the frame and the edge of the door, and with a few flicks of the wrist, I’d soon wedged it around the bar that held the door shut and forced it back, picking the lock. I turned the knob and pulled the door open, revealing a red-faced Carrie—still holding the scribbled-on printout of her speech.

  Before she could speak, I held up my hand. “Hold that thought,” I said, shoving the credit card back into Bess’s hand and running down the hallway to where Julia stood, watching the chaos in the ballroom with a thrilled expression.

  “So I hope you’ll join me,” Frankie was saying now, “in rejecting the preposterous and irresponsible plan Carrie Kim has put forth. . . .”

  I grabbed Julia’s arm. “How much did you pay him?”

  She turned to me with a look of surprise that quickly turned to pride. She grinned. “Why, I didn’t have to pay Frankie anything, Nancy. I just offered him a personal recommendation to Bridgetown University, you know, Carrie’s and my alma mater—and Frankie’s dream school.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “What do you have against Carrie?” I asked. “I thought you two were best friends.”

  Bess and Carrie emerged from the hallway then, and Carrie caught Julia’s eye. Carrie’s face was filled with surprise and hurt, but Julia looked almost pleased as she folded her arms again and smiled tartly. I had just thought to wonder where George had gone when suddenly the sound system cut out, leaving Frankie near silent on the podium, tapping confusedly at the mic.

  “Is this on?” he asked. Tap, tap. “Can everybody hear me?”

  He turned to frown at Julia.

  Carrie clutched her speech in her hand and walked over to Julia and me. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dark with fury. “You did this?” she hissed at Julia, gesturing to Frankie. “The notes, the squirrel? You’re behind all of it?”

  Julia did something really disturbing then: She laughed. A real, delighted laugh. “That’s right,” she whispered. “And you had it coming! Our whole lives, you’ve been treated like the golden child, having all kinds of doors opened for you because of your stupid tennis championship. I was always the smart one, but noooo, nobody cares about intelligence anymore!”

  Carrie frowned at her. “What? I had no idea you felt this way.”

  Julia’s easy laugh turned into a scowl. “Do you remember when we both applied for that job in Congresswoman Rudolph’s office? I knew every word of her policies, had studied her every action on the Hill, and you still got the job—because Rudolph played tennis in college and thought you were some kind of kindred spirit!” She paused. “Do you remember that, Carrie? Do you?”

  Carrie’s forehead creased. “I do remember that, Julia, but I had no idea you were still so upset about it.” She moved closer. “That’s when you got the assistant job at your PR firm, and I thought that made you happy. . . .”

  Julia’s eyes flashed at her old friend. “You were wrong,” she snapped. “I was sick over that job—and I’m still sick that people think sports are the be-all and end-all of achievement! Well, you’ve had your comeuppance now. You quit your job to run for office, and now you’re going to lose.”

  Carrie stared at Julia. Her eyes, still filled with hurt, seemed to harden into tiny black stones. “We’ll see about that,” she hissed. “I haven’t got my come-anything. The election hasn’t happened yet!”

  Pulling her speech close to her, she poked her head into the hallway. “George! Turn the sound back on!”

  Frankie Ludlow had stepped down from the podium and was talking animatedly with his teammates, who seemed to have a lot of questions about his sudden change of heart. Carrie strode purposefully past them and stalked up to the podium. The crowd hushed at the sight of her. Carrie took a deep breath, then smiled a dazzling smile.

  “My fellow citizens,” she begins, “this campaign has been a long and bumpy ride, and that may be partially my fault. But tonight—now—before it’s too late—it’s time to tell you what Carrie Kim is really about. . . .”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Victory Celebration

  “OVER HERE, NANCE!” BESS GRABBED my arm, juggling two huge blue clouds of cotton candy in her other hand as she dragged me across the parking lot gravel and onto the grass that surrounded the new Boylestown High football field. “Carrie’s going to cut the ribbon any minute.”

  It was three months later, and summer had settled over Boylestown like a warm electric blanket. The grass of the new field shone neon green in the bright sun, and the crowd was oohing and aahing at the beautiful new bleachers and newly planted and painted field.

  George was already standing in Bess’s designated spot, and she took one of the cotton candies and pulled off a hunk. “I think Carrie made a wise decision to put the new field right on top of the old one,” she said, looking across at the old forest where the new field had originally been slated to go. “It might have been more expensive, but she was able to save Willow Woods.”

  “Well, it helped that she was able to get Hamlin’s Athletic Shop to sponsor the field,” Bess pointed out, gesturing to the bright HAMLIN‘S—FOR ALL YOUR ATHLETIC NEEDS! ads that framed the scoreboard and were painted along the edge of the field. “They covered most of the extra cost. And I was reading in the paper that the owner says his business is already up twenty-five percent since they announced the sponsorship.”

  I smiled. After Carrie had decided to build the new field on top of the old one, her new sports complex idea had gone over well with everyone—even the Green Club. She had easily won the election two weeks after the last fund-raiser, and so far she seemed to be loving her new position on the town council. The last time we’d seen her, she’d beamed as she told us about a new after-school literacy program she was introducing for the elementary students and how much they seemed to be enjoying it.

  Now Carrie stepped up to a small podium erected on the edge of the field. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “it’s been a long time coming, but I’m thrilled to announce that the new Boylestown football field and athletics complex are open for business!” She leaned down with an oversize pair of scissors and cut through a red ribbon that had been strung along the sidelines. The crowd whooped and cheered.

  “BHS!” some students began chanting. “BHS! BHS!”

  George grinned, turning to Bess. “Aren’t you worried?” she asked. “With these fancy new digs, isn’t Boylestown going to crush your beloved River Heights team?”

  Bess shrugs. “They may have fancy new digs, but we have heart. We always have.” She smiled and took another bite of cotton candy. “Besides, I’m sure our team is up to the challenge.”

  I chuckled. “Come on. Let’s find Ned. He was going to get us a cold drink.” But when I turned on my heel and took a step toward the concession stand, I bumped into someone.

  Someone tall and skinny. Someone with pale-green eyes and a mop of dark hair.

  “Barney!” I gasped.

  I hadn’t seen my erstwhile Green Club c
olleague since that last, fateful fund-raiser where he’d been led out in handcuffs. I’d learned the rest of his story through George, and from the stories in the local papers. Barney claimed that none of the attempts to sabotage Carrie’s campaign had been his idea. He’d just been helping his beloved aunt Julia, with whom he’d always shared a love of politics and justice. “Too bad he was playing for the wrong side,” George had added when she’d told me the story over lemonade a few weeks before. I couldn’t help but agree.

  Now Barney studied me through his green eyes. He looked more like his old self—cheerful, unself-conscious.

  “Um, hi,” I said, trying and failing to hide the awkwardness I felt. “Barney. It’s good to see you!”

  He smirked. “It’s good to see me out of jail, you mean?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “The last time you saw me, I believe I was being led out in handcuffs.”

  I took a breath. “Well.” I could feel myself blushing as I forced a shrug. “Bygones, right? Listen, I’m really sorry if I got you in trouble you didn’t deserve. I’ve been following your story in the papers. I know now that you were just carrying out the orders of the bad guy—you weren’t the bad guy yourself.”

  Barney nodded. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. But I’m not totally blameless, either. I didn’t see how twisted Aunt Julia had gotten in wanting Carrie to be defeated, no matter what. She was making it sound like Carrie was this totally selfish environment-hating witch, when, in fact, Carrie was totally willing to change her plan after sitting down and talking to Eloise and some local experts. I got duped, I did some stupid things, and now I’m paying the price.”

  I nodded. Suddenly I couldn’t stop the question that had stuck in my mind for months from bubbling out of my mouth. “Who killed that squirrel?”

  Barney let out a little snort of a laugh. “Man, that poor squirrel. I found it in our yard like that, honestly. I think it fell out of a tree. Anyway, I told Aunt Julia about it while she was having tea with my mom one day, and the next thing I knew, she told me she’d sent a box making some ‘big statement’ to Carrie’s headquarters. Believe it or not, I didn’t find out the details until you told us the night we were going to egg Karlowski’s house.”

  I let out my breath. Wow, that’s actually a huge relief. My perception of Barney when I first met him hadn’t been that far off; he was seriously misled and had made some big mistakes, but at least he wasn’t a killer (squirrel or otherwise).

  “You said you were paying the price,” I realized. “What does that mean? You’re not in jail, obviously.”

  Barney shook his head. “Neither of us were given time, actually,” he said. “They gave us both community service instead. The judge thought we both needed a wake-up call about what’s truly important in our community. So we’re both working with this program that brings sports into underprivileged communities.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Sports?” I asked. “You?”

  “I know, I know.” Barney grinned. “I’ve had some choice words to say about athletes in the past. And for the record, I still think this school places too much importance on athletics.” He paused. “But it turns out I’m kind of a killer hockey player. Who knew?”

  Who knew, indeed? I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining Barney chasing around a puck on the ice. Well, good for him. “I’m glad you’re happy,” I said honestly.

  Barney nodded. His expression changed a bit, and he twisted his mouth to one side. “So, hey,” he said. “Now that we’re on good terms, if you ever have some free time for an organic, sustainable veggie burger . . .”

  “Um . . . I . . .” As I struggled to figure out how to respond to Barney’s request, Ned did it for me. He slipped up beside me and touched my arm.

  “Hey, Nance!” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I signed us up to be partners in the Ping-Pong tournament in the new complex, and it’s going to start in five minutes.” Looking up, he seemed to notice Barney for the first time. “Oh . . . hey, man.” Ned nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

  Barney waved his hand. “It’s cool.” He shot me a look of understanding. “Nancy was just telling me what a stand-up guy you are.”

  Ned, bless his heart, blushed. “Oh . . . wow.” He squirmed a little, then gestured toward the complex. “Well, shall we? This other Ping-Pong team can’t beat us if we don’t show up.”

  I chuckled. Ned wasn’t exaggerating; we’re both terrible at Ping-Pong. But it was fun to play, anyway.

  “I signed up to play myself,” Barney said. “I should probably find my partner, Eloise.”

  As we moved toward the complex, we ran into Bess and George again.

  “Hey,” Bess said, touching my elbow, “do you know where the Ping-Pong tournament starts? George signed us up to play in the first round.”

  “George did?” I asked, shooting my friend a joking glance. “Miss I-Hate-Sports? Miss Why-Aren’t-We-Funding-Chess-Club-Instead?”

  George shook her head defiantly. “It’s not sports,” she said, “it’s Ping-Pong.”

  Ned nodded. “And guess what? You’re looking at your competitors.”

  “Wow.” George widened her eyes, taking us in. “What do you think, Bess? Do you think we can take these two?”

  Bess’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it on!” she said, then added with a laugh, “Ping-Pong—the sport that unites athletes and nonathletes alike!”

  Dear Diary,

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  I‘M SO HAPPY WE WERE able to figure this one out! Boy was I wrong about Barney . . . but I still can’t believe that Julia would do that to her friend. I’d never want to hurt Bess or George.

  I think I’ve definitely learned how dangerous politics can be, and I’ll certainly be staying out of campaigns, at least for a while. I’m off to see if I can teach Ned a thing or two about Ping-Pong! Until next time. . . .

  * * *

  * * *

  Carolyn Keene is the bestselling author of the popular Nancy Drew series of books.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  First Aladdin hardcover edition January 2014

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  Library of Congress Control Number 2013948
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  ISBN 978-1-4424-9393-3 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-9392-6 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4424-9394-0 (eBook)