Sabotage At Willow Woods (11 page)

I sighed. “Thank you for trying. I’m sure Carrie
will reimburse the lodge for the damage.”

He stood, and I squeezed his arm. “All done out here?” he asked me.

I nodded. “Sorry about that—I’m ready to go in now.”

Ned raised his eyebrows. “Find out anything?”

I shook my head. “No. Yes. I’m not sure yet. Listen, Ned—” I looked up at him and cupped his face in my hands. “I need to apologize to you in advance. My brain is churning with a million ideas, and I may not be a lot of fun tonight.”

Ned put his hands alongside mine, then leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. “All I ever ask is that you be yourself, Nancy.”

I grinned at him, took his hand, and led him into the Elks Lodge.

See what I mean?
Sweetest guy ever.

Inside, Ned and I quickly found our seats, and then I disappeared to go look for my friends and Carrie. I found them in a small room backstage, where Carrie was patting Julia on the back and speaking to her in
soothing tones. Bess and George stood awkwardly on either side, looking like they had no idea what to do.

“Jules, really, it will be okay. We’ve done everything we can. Now we need to just . . . get on with the show.”

Julia looked up at her friend, and her face crumpled. She took out a balled-up, mascara-stained tissue and gently dabbed her eyes. “I just keep thinking about what you said,” she whimpered. “If I hadn’t insisted, you would have given up your campaign last week! And I think that would have been the right thing to do.”

Carrie took a deep breath and looked up at that moment, catching my eye. I could see the pain in her face. It must have hurt to have her best friend tell her she should have quit, when Carrie had just, finally, started to accept the fact that she still had a shot. “Julia, go home,” she said after a few seconds. “I’ve got this. And you need to rest. Okay?”

George stepped forward. “She’s right, Julia. You’re upset, and it’s not going to help the campaign. Why don’t you go home, get some sleep, and come back to HQ tomorrow, when you’ve cleared your head?”

Julia looked from George to Carrie, then shook her head furiously. “I’m not leaving you, Carrie.” She sniffled, then brought the tissue down to her nose and blew. “I’ll pull myself together. But I’m staying for this dinner.” She shot an angry glare in George’s direction. “Your little cousin can’t kick me out!”

George groaned and rolled her eyes, and Carrie gestured like she was about to say something, but I walked over and grabbed her hand. “Carrie—can I talk to you a sec?”

Carrie looked up at me, confused. “Sure, what about?”

I shook my head. “It could be nothing.”

Carrie nodded, and I led her out of the little room into the hallway, down toward the kitchen. Inside, a crew of caterers were working at top speed to get salads and appetizers out to thirty tables of ten people each. Things were chaotic, and nobody noticed us watching as a stream of waiters walked briskly out, each carrying a big tray of salads high above his or her head.

“Do you see that waiter?” I asked, pointing to
Barney, who now looked all crisp and proper in his black-and-white uniform.

Carrie squinted. “The kid with the dark hair?”

I nodded. Carrie looked at me curiously.

“Do you remember whether he worked the last fund-raiser?” I asked.

Carrie frowned. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t remember all the faces. But yeah, I think I saw him there. And it’s likely; we used the same catering service.” She gave me a quizzical look. “Why?”

I watched Barney disappear into the ballroom. “No reason.” I turned back to Carrie with what I hoped was an encouraging expression. “Well, Bess and George and I probably should find our seats and let you work on your speech. Should we try to take Julia, too?”

Carrie smiled with relief. “Oh gosh, that would be great.”

We went back into the little room, where I told Bess and George that we’d better get seated, and George convinced Julia to come find her table with us; Carrie needed alone time to psych herself up. Bess, George,
and I headed back to the table where Ned waited; Julia took her seat at a table near the front.

As I settled into my seat, though, I watched Barney carefully as he emerged from the kitchen again, a pitcher of water in each hand.

Maybe I haven’t caught you yet,
I thought,
but I’m keeping my eye on you.

IT SOON BECAME CLEAR THAT
I wouldn’t have to work too hard to keep an eye on Barney. He was
our
waiter! Just seconds after we’d taken our seats, Barney hefted two pitchers of water over to our table. A few feet away, he seemed to spot me and shook his head, like
I can’t believe it
. But he pasted on a professional smile and kept going, ducking his head politely as he filled our water glasses. When he got to mine, he wouldn’t make eye contact at all. When he got to Ned, he “accidentally” missed the
glass and got a little puddle on Ned’s lap.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” Barney said in a smooth voice, grabbing Ned’s napkin and going to swipe at the spot.

“It’s fine.” Ned grabbed the napkin and sponged himself off. “Accidents happen.” But after Barney nodded and made his way back into the kitchen, he leaned over to me and whispered, “Isn’t that the guy you were talking to outside?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t think he’s my biggest fan—or yours.”

Ned watched Barney’s back as he walked away, shrugging. “Hazards of a sassy girlfriend, I guess.”

I smiled, but already my mind was cranking on another idea. I asked Bess for a piece of paper and a pen, which of course she was able to produce from her huge purse in about five seconds. (I love having prepared friends.) Cupping my hand around the paper as the rest of the table discussed the latest episode of
The Amazing Race,
I carefully wrote:

Barney,

I’m sorry I accused you. I know you’re not a bad guy. Forgive me?

—Nancy

A few minutes later Barney was back with a huge tray filled with salads. He carried a little metal stand with him, which he set up on the floor and then placed the big tray on top of it. Without making eye contact, he began swiftly sliding a plate in front of every diner. When he got to mine I slipped the note into his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, quietly enough so that only he could hear.

Barney disappeared again, and we all eagerly dug into our salads. Ned, Bess, George, and I were sharing the table with two Boylestown basketball players and their dates. They all seemed very nice and were interested to learn that we knew Carrie and were working on her campaign. George eagerly told them all the things that made Carrie the best candidate for town council,
and I noted that now when George talked about the sports complex, she seemed authentically excited about it.
How things change!

I tried to pay attention and contribute to the conversation, but my eye kept wandering to the door where waiters occasionally popped out of the kitchen. It was one of the quietest times of the meal for the waitstaff, because the attendees needed time to finish their salads, and entrées were likely already set out. At one point, I watched Barney come out of the kitchen, lean against the wall, and make conversation with a tall Asian girl about our age, also part of the waitstaff. He glanced over in my direction and I quickly looked down, not wanting to get caught. But even after I turned back to the conversation at our table, I felt his gaze lingering.

Finally Barney came to clear our plates. He didn’t look at me at all as he grabbed the plate containing a good half of my portion—I’d been too distracted to eat. I kept watching him hopefully, but he never acknowledged me, and soon disappeared with the dirty plates back into the kitchen. I felt my heart sink.
Did my plan fail?

But a few minutes after that, as Bess was telling one of the basketball players’ dates about an
amazing
nail salon she’d found in Boylestown, Barney reappeared from the kitchen—this time carrying a tray of entrées. He strode purposefully to our table, still not looking at me, and began placing the dish in front of each attendee. He placed mine last, and before he pulled his hand away, he found my hand and shoved a piece of paper into it.

By the time I realized what had happened, he was gone.

The rest of the table was laughing at something Ned had said as I unfolded the paper and looked inside.

FORGET IT—NO BIG DEAL.

Five words. But it wasn’t the words I was interested in, it was the handwriting. As I stared at the blocky, evenly spaced letters, my blood chilled.

It was the same handwriting that had been used on both notes to Carrie. The same handwriting as the
message scrawled in paint on the front entrance.

I could feel the blood rushing in my ears.
I was right! Barney is really behind everything!
I’d thought he was so cheerful and harmless—how had I been so fooled?

Now I watched him emerge from the kitchen again and settle, leaning against the wall, with a good view of the podium.
Oh no,
I thought. The speeches were going to start any minute. So far Barney had made his point using anonymous notes, a manipulated recording, a dead squirrel, and a can of paint. What else was he planning for this fund-raiser?

How is he going to ruin it?

I wasn’t going to wait around and find out. I jumped out of my chair, and when all eyes turned to me, mumbled a feeble “Excuse me—restroom,” before heading off toward the backstage room where I’d found Carrie with Bess, George, and Julia earlier.

I shoved through the door, only to find the room empty. I backed up and looked around, and soon spotted Julia, standing with her arms folded as she leaned against a plain white door.

I ran up to her. “Julia! I need to talk to Carrie. It’s urgent.”

Julia narrowed her eyes at me. She must have gone into the restroom to clean herself up; her hair had been tucked back into its complicated updo, and her yellow dress was now wrapped with a peach-colored shawl, hiding the stains and smears of red paint. She looked nearly TV-ready.

“Carrie’s not to be disturbed,” she said coolly. “She’s in this restroom putting the finishing touches on her speech. I’m sure we don’t have to tell you, Nancy, these speeches have become more important than ever! It’s crucial that she get the tone just right.”

I was a little stunned by how completely Julia had reverted to her usual calm, responsible self. Wasn’t she just sobbing a few minutes ago? Telling the press that “this campaign is a nightmare”? Did she realize that half the reason Carrie had to get the speech just right was to undo all the damage Julia had done?

“It’s kind of an emergency,” I said, looking urgently at the door. “Can you get her?”

Julia looked me over thoughtfully, then uncrossed her arms and took my shoulder. “Maybe I can help you. Let’s talk elsewhere.”

She led me down the hallway toward the kitchen, stopping just before the entrance to the ballroom. “Now, what’s up, Nancy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The words tumbled out in a rush. “I think I know who the note writer and squirrel killer and entrance painter is.”

Julia raised her eyebrows. “You do? Who?”

I turned and looked toward the ballroom. Sure enough, Barney was still leaning casually against the wall, nibbling a fingernail and waiting for the speeches to start.

“It’s that waiter. Right there—with the black hair.”

Julia turned to look at him, then turned back to me with a thoughtful frown. “How can you be sure?”

I told her the whole story as briefly as I could. How I’d met Barney trying to find out more about Ms. Meyerhoff, and the whole Green Club misadventure. How I’d seen the stationery in Eloise’s locker. How
Barney had likely been a waiter at both of Carrie’s fund-raising events. And most importantly, the sample of his handwriting—which I pulled out to show Julia—which clearly was the same handwriting used on both notes and outside, in the paint.

Julia’s brow seemed crease further and further with each piece of evidence. Finally she looked up from the note into my eyes. “Very impressive, Nancy,” she said, nodding slowly. “You’re a very clever girl. Thank you for telling me. You can go back to your seat—I’ll take care of it.”