Sabotage at Willow Woods (Nancy Drew Diaries #5)(9)

George held up her hand. “Give it to me,” she said. She dug into the black leather tote she’d brought and pulled out her shiny tablet. As soon as Carrie handed her the drive, George had it plugged in and was touching the screen to play the audio file that lay within.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY THINK . . .” Carrie’s voice rang out, small and tinny, from the tablet’s speakers.

George stopped the recording and looked at me. “Ladies,” she said, “I think we’ve found some evidence.”





CHAPTER FOUR





Fishing for a Culprit


WHEN I GOT HOME AFTER the failed fund-raiser, I felt so exhausted that I got into bed right away. I figured I’d be out like a light as soon as my eyes closed. But instead I tossed and turned for an hour, mulling the whole case over in my head: Carrie’s sports complex plan. What it would do to Willow Woods. Barney and the mysterious Ms. Meyerhoff, beloved teacher and Green Club sponsor. How effortlessly Julia had bent the truth to win over Mr. Driscoll. And the recording—which Carrie claimed was manipulated—and her face when we’d gone to comfort her after her speech was disrupted.

What was really going on here?

I stared out the window at the willow tree outside my bedroom, the long fronds undulating softly in the night breeze. I wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but I must have, because suddenly . . .

I stood in a small clearing surrounded by dense forest. It was pitch dark there—I had a tiny flashlight to light my path—and even though I knew we weren’t far from the high school or the road it sat on, it was dead silent.

How had I gotten there? Where was everybody?

“Bess? George?” I called urgently, shining my flashlight in a slow circle around me. “Dad?”

An owl hooted, and when I turned around, Barney was standing right in front of me, his pale skin almost blue in the dull light.

“How did you get here so quickly?” I demanded. I hadn’t heard any movement behind me.

Barney just smiled. “I think a better question is, what took you so long? Come on.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the trees so roughly I dropped my flashlight. “Wait . . . wait!” I cried. “I lost my—”

Barney turned around, his lip pulled back in a sneer. “You don’t need it,” he hissed, dragging me farther. “This is important, Nancy. I want you to stand right here.”

He knows my real name? The thought occurred to me after Barney pushed me roughly up onto a tree stump, then disappeared into the darkness.

“Barney?” I called. “Barney? Where are you?”

“Don’t move!” his voice yelled from the darkness, but I still couldn’t make him out or tell where the voice was coming from. He sounded angry now. “Really, Nancy, it’s the least you can do.”

I stood uncertainly on the stump, staring into the darkness. What’s the least I can do?

Then I was blinded by an overpoweringly bright light. I let out a cry, but it was lost in the ear-melting roar that suddenly came from behind the light, the sound of a hundred truck engines starting up at once. The light started moving toward me, and I realized what it was: a steamroller! And it was headed right at me!

I screamed again. “Barney!” I tried to scramble off the stump, but it felt like my feet were held by heavy concrete. “I’m stuck here! What do I do? What do I do?”

He slipped up next to me then, as silently and surprisingly as he’d first appeared. His expression held a terrible disappointment.

“Duh, Nancy,” he said, turning to the oncoming steamroller with a shrug. “Just tell them to stop.”

I woke up panting, soaked with sweat. The tree outside my window shifted in the breeze, the leaves making a soft shhhh sound, and it only made me tremble harder. I glanced at the clock by my bed: 3:24 a.m.

It was just a dream. I settled back against my pillows, trying to calm my jangled nerves. It can’t hurt you. It was just a dream.

I tried counting to one hundred, slowing my breathing, imagining myself at the beach—all the things that usually calmed me down. But nothing seemed to work.

It was just a dream, I told myself again.

But why did it feel so real?



The next day I stumbled through school, tired and irritable, until my last, free period, when I changed my clothes and jumped into my car. I was back at Boylestown High, filled with a new sense of purpose, just as the bell signaling the end of the school day rang. Sure, in real life, Barney had seemed nice enough, and the goals of the Green Club seemed noble and sensible. If Carrie’s sports complex really was going to cause irreparable damage, then yes, it made sense to let people know. But the events at last night’s fund-raising dinner still turned my stomach. It seemed awfully below the belt to frame Carrie for saying something she’d never really said, robbing of her the chance to explain her views.

As the hallways cleared, I stepped cautiously through the doorway of room 238—sophomore English. “Ms. Meyerhoff?” I asked.

The woman I saw at the desk was not at all what I was expecting for the Green Club advisor and possible note writer. She was soft and round, with slightly frizzy, long brown hair and warm, gentle brown eyes. I realized that in the back of my mind, I’d been imagining some hip, edgy woman with piercings, organic designer clothes, and a punkish haircut. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking up curiously.