Sabotage at Willow Woods (Nancy Drew Diaries #5)(10)

I cleared my throat. “Um . . . I hope so.”

She smiled encouragingly. “Need some help with Shakespeare?” she asked, organizing some books on her desk. “All the English teachers send confused students my way. Just read it out loud. It always helps. It’s amazing how universal the problems seem when you speak the words out loud.”

I pulled my laptop out of my backpack. “Actually . . . I’m an intern for the Boylestown Bugle. I’m doing an article on the new football field and sports complex that Carrie Kim is proposing. I’m collecting quotes from a sample of teachers. Would you mind chatting for just a moment?”

Ms. Meyerhoff’s open expression suddenly closed off, and she sighed and shuffled her books into a messenger bag. “I’m sure you could find more interesting people to talk to, Ms. . . . What was your name?”

“I’m sorry.” I put my laptop down on a desk and held out my hand. “Katrina Vicks. And I’m interested in whatever you have to say, really.”

Ms. Meyerhoff gave me an appraising look, then shrugged and sat back down behind her desk. “Very well. Can we make it quick, though? I have a dentist appointment in half an hour.”

I smiled and sat down at one of the student desks, opening up my laptop. “Great. No problem. Can I ask your name and what subjects you teach?”

She nodded. “Ms. Meyerhoff—Marina—and I teach English and music.”

I nodded too and tapped out some notes on the laptop. “And how long have you been at BHS, Ms. Meyerhoff?”

“Twelve years.”

A long time. I typed that down as well, thinking that Ms. Meyerhoff had been at BHS long enough to develop some strong opinions.

I looked up. “And—Ms. Meyerhoff—can you tell me honestly, how do you feel about the proposed sports complex?”

Ms. Meyerhoff shook her head and looked down at her sweater, where she pulled at a pilling bit. “Well, honestly? I’m sure it will be nice for the athletes, but I wish that money could be spent on arts education instead. Did you know we had to let two art teachers go last year, because there wasn’t enough money? But we have money for a new state-of-the-art sports complex. I know the woman proposing the complex was some kind of sports prodigy when she was a student here. I just wonder about this town’s priorities sometimes.”

I nodded dutifully and wrote all that down. Then I paused and looked Ms. Meyerhoff in the eye. “So the environment doesn’t feature at all in your concerns?”

Ms. Meyerhoff didn’t blink. “The environment? What about it?”

I pulled the flyer Barney had given me from my backpack, unfolded it, and handed it to her. “Are you familiar with these conflicts? This flyer was handed out by the Green Club.”

Ms. Meyerhoff took the paper from me, glanced down at it, then up at me. “Yes, I am familiar with these. And?”

I cleared my throat. “Are you opposed to the sports complex for the reasons detailed in the flyer?”

She shook her head. “I’m more concerned about what it says about how much this town values sports versus art education.” She glanced at her watch. “Is that all? I’m running short on time.”

I kept pressing. “But aren’t you the faculty sponsor of the Green Club?”

Ms. Meyerhoff stopped short and gave me a curious look. “I’m sorry. What kind of an interview is this?”

I tried to smile. “A thorough one?” I glanced down at my laptop, pretended to type something, and added, “I’m really just hoping to get a wide range of opinions on the proposal, Ms. Meyerhoff.”

She stared at me for a moment, bemused. “Yes, I am the faculty sponsor for the Green Club, but I have little input—the kids run the club themselves. I’m sure they put a lot of research into this flyer, and it was written by one of my best students. Would you like to talk to her?”

I nodded vigorously, then tried to slow myself down, lest I look insane. “That would be very helpful, yes.”

“It’s Eloise Stromberg,” Ms. Meyerhoff said, then spelled it. “Did you get that?”

“Yes.” I typed the name into my notes, then looked up at Ms. Meyerhoff. She really doesn’t seem like an angry note writer, I reflected. She seems like someone’s kindly, artsy aunt. “Thank you very much. I hope I didn’t make you late to your appointment.”

With those words I closed my hand around the flash drive we’d pulled from Carrie’s sound system the night before and then dropped it onto the classroom floor with a loud clatter. “Oh no! I’m sorry—could you get that for me, Ms. Meyerhoff?”

I really just wanted to see if the teacher had any reaction to the flash drive—a momentary panic, a quick paling of the skin. But Ms. Meyerhoff just knelt down and grabbed it, then handed it to me. “Okay?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Okay.” I was getting the sense this whole visit had been a dead end. I had wasted a perfectly nice teacher’s time. And worse, I was no closer to finding out who was sabotaging Carrie’s campaign.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, Ms. Meyerhoff,” I said, shoving the drive in my pocket and heading for the door. I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I nearly collided with a tall, skinny boy walking in. Barney!

“Hey there!” he said, his face lighting up when he looked down and recognized me. “Katrina, right? Hold on, I just need to stick our club dues in Ms. Meyerhoff’s desk, and then we can talk.”