Sabotage at Willow Woods (Nancy Drew Diaries #5)(8)

A stunned silence fell over the crowd, followed immediately by a buzz of angry voices. What was going on? Carrie stopped her speech, looking like a deer in the headlights—where was this coming from?

George was frowning, looking at the nearest speaker. “It’s a recording,” she whispered. “Somebody’s playing it over the sound system.”

“But why?” Bess hissed.

“And where did they get it?” I added. “It sounded like Carrie was insulting the kind of rich donors to her campaign who are here tonight!”

George shook her head, looking over at Julia. The pretty redhead had stood up and was craning her neck to look into the back room. She glanced back at Carrie onstage and spread her arms wide, as if to say, I don’t know what’s going on—I can’t help you.

Carrie cleared her throat. “I—I—” But as soon as she spoke into the microphone, her voice was drowned out by angry shouts.

“When did you say that, Ms. Kim?”

“When was that recording made?”

“If you really feel that way about your supporters, why are we wasting our time here?”

Carrie shook her head, looking miserable. “I didn’t—just give me a minute, please—I can’t—”

But people were already beginning to push back from their tables and throw their napkins onto their plates. Angry voices joined in frustration, a kind of chorus of disgruntlement.

“—show her what I think about her attitude—”

“—entitled and selfish!—”

“—throw my support behind the other candidates—”

Carrie was stunned and silent at the podium. She watched with hollow eyes as many of the guests headed for the door. Even the older man at our table, Mr. Driscoll, who’d been so concerned about the parking meters, shook his head and got up.

“Please, Mr. Driscoll, don’t go,” Julia begged, her smile wide but desperate. “Obviously we’re having some sort of technical difficulty, but I know Carrie’s heart—”

But Mr. Driscoll gave Julia a look of pure contempt. “I’m leaving. At the very least, Ms. Kim has some explaining to do,” he said crisply. “I am withdrawing my support until she can explain her statements.”

Julia’s face fell like an undercooked soufflé. Mr. Driscoll nodded at the carefully styled older woman next to him, and they rose to leave together. Slowly the rest of our table began moving on too. I looked helplessly at Bess and George. It seemed safe to say that the dinner was breaking up.

George squeezed my arm. “Let’s go find Carrie,” she said.

I didn’t argue. I could imagine that whatever had happened tonight, George’s cousin could use a sympathetic ear right about now.

Bess, George, and I all made our way to the corner of the platform where Carrie stood, bent over and looking stricken.

“Are you okay?” George asked softly, touching her cousin’s shoulder.

Carrie let out a sharp laugh and turned. Her eyes were red with tears.

“I’m very much not okay,” she whispered, dissolving into a sob. “I don’t even know what happened!”

“Someone must have hacked into the sound system to play a recording,” George explained.

“Was that recording really you?” Bess asked softly.

Carrie nodded. “That was really my voice,” she said. “But those words were taken totally out of context! This was a conversation I had with a few local reporters. The piece you heard was part of a much longer answer about how I’m not going to be swayed by special interests—I want to govern in the best interest of my constituents.” She sniffled. “I think it’s important for politicians to represent their town fairly—not just the people with money.”

“Well, someone got access to that recording and created a totally different message,” George said grimly. “Someone with pretty good editing software, because it sounded natural. Usually if you cut and patch dialogue together like that, it sounds choppy.”

Carrie shook her head and swiped at her eyes. I followed her gaze across the room, where Julia was chasing down a group of four little old ladies. “—all a big misunderstanding!” she was saying. “If you knew the Carrie I know—like I know her . . .”

Hmmmmmm.

My mind was spinning a mile a minute. So many questions were swirling around in my brain. If Carrie was telling the truth and the recording was taken out of context, who would want to sabotage her campaign like this? Was it the same person who’d written the mystery note? Could this be step one of what the note had promised: YOU’LL BE SORRY? And did it all trace back to worries about the environmental effects of building a new sports complex?

Carrie accepted a tissue Bess offered from her purse and wiped her face, then noisily blew her nose. She seemed to be trying to pull herself together. “Come on, girls,” she said, looking from George to Bess to me. “I want to see something.”

Carrie led us through a closed doorway that led to a noisy, hot space. The kitchen lay down a narrow hallway. Just off the hallway was the control room.

Carrie walked over to a large sound system. She reached out, and before I could yell, Don’t touch it—you’ll mess up the fingerprints!, she pulled a tiny flash drive from a USB port.