Sabotage at Willow Woods (Nancy Drew Diaries #5)(3)

“That’s why,” Carrie went on, “if I’m elected, the main goal of my first term will be to champion the building of an all-new football field and sports complex at BHS!”

If Carrie said anything after that, I couldn’t hear it—her voice was immediately eclipsed by screaming, clapping, and cheering from what seemed like the entire crowd. Bess was hooting as loudly as anyone else, and even I found myself pretty excited by it all. But then I noticed that George herself was only clapping halfheartedly, and her expression was troubled. I nudged her, and George shook her head. “More money for sports,” she whispered to me. “Did you know BHS had to lay off three teachers last year? The town didn’t budget enough to pay them.”

That dampened my enthusiasm a bit. Was George’s cousin making a big mistake? But the crowd was still whooping and cheering. One of the football players ran up onstage and grabbed Carrie in a big bear hug. Carrie pulled away, laughing.

“I hope you’ll support my campaign for town council,” she went on. “Now, to the real reason we’re here: to introduce the State Champion Boylestown Raiders!”

The crowd got loud again, and the awkward moment was forgotten in pure celebration. After about an hour, when the speeches and awards were over, the three of us moved off toward the BHS parking lot, where I’d left my car. George spotted Carrie moving through the crowd too. She seemed to be headed for the parking lot but was making slow progress because people kept stopping her to shake her hand or give her a high five. “Hey, cuz!”

Carrie spotted us and gestured for us to wait for her. A few minutes later—after several handshakes, three high fives, and one kissed baby—Carrie emerged, flushed and looking energized. “Hey, guys! I think that went well, huh?”

“Totally,” George said.

Carrie looked down at her hand, where she was clutching a folded piece of paper. “Someone handed me this in the crowd,” she said. “I hope it’s not some guy’s phone number!” She opened up the note and looked down at it, and suddenly her face paled. “Uh-oh,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Bess asked. When Carrie didn’t respond and just kept staring down at the note, George reached over and took the paper from her cousin’s hand. She tilted the note so all three of us could read it. I leaned in to get a better look, then gasped.

NOT EVERYONE LOVES SPORTS. STOP YOUR CAMPAIGN?—OR YOU’LL BE SORRY!





CHAPTER TWO





A Surprise Enemy


CARRIE WENT PALE. “WHAT—WHAT is this?” she asked, turning around as though she expected to find the note writer smiling and waving.

“It’s a threat,” I said, a note of concern slipping into my voice. “An anonymous one. Unfortunately, politicians get them all the time.”

Carrie shook her head, looking back at the note. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “What I said was so basic. How could it make someone this mad at me?”

“I think the someone in question isn’t a rational person,” George replied, frowning. “And we need to figure out who he or she is, before they act on that threat.”

Carrie looked up. Her expression was so vulnerable, it made her look like a little kid. “Nancy,” she said, turning to me. “George has told me a lot about the mysteries you’ve solved. I know you’re very smart and resourceful. Will you look into this for me?”

I smiled, taking the note from George and carefully placing it into my purse, trying to preserve the evidence. “I would have tried to catch the creep even if you hadn’t asked,” I said honestly.



“I hope Carrie doesn’t have to suspend her campaign,” George murmured later that afternoon, picking at my bedspread with jumpy, nervous fingers. We were all settled in my room, and I held the offensive note in my hand. I was using my own personal kit to dust it for fingerprints. Snooping 101.

“She won’t have to suspend her campaign,” I said comfortingly. “I’ll find whoever wrote this, and we’ll figure out what’s going on. But it’s going to be a little harder than I thought.” I put down the brush and pulled over my trash can, shaking the bright-blue powder off the paper and into the trash. “I’m not getting a single print off this thing.”

“Ah,” Bess said with a knowing nod, “a seasoned threatening-note writer.”

I pulled my mouth into a tight line. “Right. Must’ve worn rubber gloves to write it.” That made things a little difficult.

Bess leaned over from where she was lying at the foot of my bed and took the note from me. “The handwriting is pretty standard, huh? Block letters, black marker.”

“Yup,” I agreed. “No distinguishing marks.”

Bess looked closer at the note and frowned. She brought the paper close to her face, then moved to get closer to the reading lamp on the bedside table and turned it on.

George perked up from her seat at my desk. “What do you see?”

Bess tapped her lip with a perfectly polished fingernail. “There’s a little bit of a logo here—like this was written on some kind of official stationery.”

I leaned over to look, and Bess gestured to the top of the note. Sure enough, a tiny bit of embossed blue ink was visible at the very top—like whoever had written the note had cut off the identifying part of their stationery. It wasn’t much to go on, though—just a bit of a circle and the very bottom part of what looked like three letters.