Sabotage At Willow Woods (13 page)

Authors: Carolyn Keene

Pulling her speech close to her, she poked her head into the hallway. “George! Turn the sound back on!”

Frankie Ludlow had stepped down from the podium and was talking animatedly with his teammates, who
seemed to have a lot of questions about his sudden change of heart. Carrie strode purposefully past them and stalked up to the podium. The crowd hushed at the sight of her. Carrie took a deep breath, then smiled a dazzling smile.

“My fellow citizens,” she begins, “this campaign has been a long and bumpy ride, and that may be partially my fault. But tonight—now—before it’s too late—it’s time to tell you what Carrie Kim is
really
about. . . .”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Victory Celebration

“OVER HERE, NANCE!” BESS GRABBED
my arm, juggling two huge blue clouds of cotton candy in her other hand as she dragged me across the parking lot gravel and onto the grass that surrounded the new Boylestown High football field. “Carrie’s going to cut the ribbon any minute.”

It was three months later, and summer had settled over Boylestown like a warm electric blanket. The grass of the new field shone neon green in the bright sun, and the crowd was oohing and aahing at the beautiful new bleachers and newly planted and painted field.

George was already standing in Bess’s designated spot, and she took one of the cotton candies and pulled off a hunk. “I think Carrie made a wise decision to put the new field right on top of the old one,” she said, looking across at the old forest where the new field had originally been slated to go. “It might have been more expensive, but she was able to save Willow Woods.”

“Well, it helped that she was able to get Hamlin’s Athletic Shop to sponsor the field,” Bess pointed out, gesturing to the bright
HAMLIN‘S—FOR ALL YOUR ATHLETIC NEEDS!
ads that framed the scoreboard and were painted along the edge of the field. “They covered most of the extra cost. And I was reading in the paper that the owner says his business is already up twenty-five percent since they announced the sponsorship.”

I smiled. After Carrie had decided to build the new field on top of the old one, her new sports complex idea had gone over well with everyone—even the Green Club. She had easily won the election two weeks after the last fund-raiser, and so far she seemed to be loving
her new position on the town council. The last time we’d seen her, she’d beamed as she told us about a new after-school literacy program she was introducing for the elementary students and how much they seemed to be enjoying it.

Now Carrie stepped up to a small podium erected on the edge of the field. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “it’s been a long time coming, but I’m thrilled to announce that the new Boylestown football field and athletics complex are open for business!” She leaned down with an oversize pair of scissors and cut through a red ribbon that had been strung along the sidelines. The crowd whooped and cheered.

“BHS!” some students began chanting. “BHS! BHS!”

George grinned, turning to Bess. “Aren’t you worried?” she asked. “With these fancy new digs, isn’t Boylestown going to crush your beloved River Heights team?”

Bess shrugs. “They may have fancy new digs, but
we have heart. We always have.” She smiled and took another bite of cotton candy. “Besides, I’m sure our team is up to the challenge.”

I chuckled. “Come on. Let’s find Ned. He was going to get us a cold drink.” But when I turned on my heel and took a step toward the concession stand, I bumped into someone.

Someone tall and skinny. Someone with pale-green eyes and a mop of dark hair.

“Barney!” I gasped.

I hadn’t seen my erstwhile Green Club colleague since that last, fateful fund-raiser where he’d been led out in handcuffs. I’d learned the rest of his story through George, and from the stories in the local papers. Barney claimed that none of the attempts to sabotage Carrie’s campaign had been his idea. He’d just been helping his beloved aunt Julia, with whom he’d always shared a love of politics and justice. “Too bad he was playing for the wrong side,” George had added when she’d told me the story over lemonade a few weeks before. I couldn’t help but agree.

Now Barney studied me through his green eyes. He looked more like his old self—cheerful, unself-conscious.

“Um, hi,” I said, trying and failing to hide the awkwardness I felt. “Barney. It’s good to see you!”

He smirked. “It’s good to see me out of jail, you mean?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “The last time you saw me, I believe I was being led out in handcuffs.”

I took a breath. “Well.” I could feel myself blushing as I forced a shrug. “Bygones, right? Listen, I’m really sorry if I got you in trouble you didn’t deserve. I’ve been following your story in the papers. I know now that you were just carrying out the orders of the bad guy—you weren’t the bad guy yourself.”

Barney nodded. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. But I’m not totally blameless, either. I didn’t see how twisted Aunt Julia had gotten in wanting Carrie to be defeated, no matter what. She was making it sound like Carrie was this totally selfish environment-hating witch, when, in fact, Carrie was totally willing to
change her plan after sitting down and talking to Eloise and some local experts. I got duped, I did some stupid things, and now I’m paying the price.”

I nodded. Suddenly I couldn’t stop the question that had stuck in my mind for months from bubbling out of my mouth. “Who killed that squirrel?”

Barney let out a little snort of a laugh. “Man, that poor squirrel. I found it in our yard like that, honestly. I think it fell out of a tree. Anyway, I told Aunt Julia about it while she was having tea with my mom one day, and the next thing I knew, she told me she’d sent a box making some ‘big statement’ to Carrie’s headquarters. Believe it or not, I didn’t find out the details until you told us the night we were going to egg Karlowski’s house.”

I let out my breath.
Wow, that’s actually a huge relief.
My perception of Barney when I first met him hadn’t been that far off; he was seriously misled and had made some big mistakes, but at least he wasn’t a killer (squirrel or otherwise).

“You said you were paying the price,” I realized.
“What does that mean? You’re not in jail, obviously.”

Barney shook his head. “Neither of us were given time, actually,” he said. “They gave us both community service instead. The judge thought we both needed a wake-up call about what’s truly important in our community. So we’re both working with this program that brings sports into underprivileged communities.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sports?” I asked.
“You?”

“I know, I know.” Barney grinned. “I’ve had some choice words to say about athletes in the past. And for the record, I
still
think this school places too much importance on athletics.” He paused. “But it turns out I’m kind of a killer hockey player. Who knew?”

Who knew, indeed?
I couldn’t help but laugh, imagining Barney chasing around a puck on the ice.
Well, good for him.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” I said honestly.

Barney nodded. His expression changed a bit, and he twisted his mouth to one side. “So, hey,” he said. “Now that we’re on good terms, if you ever have some free time for an organic, sustainable veggie burger . . .”

“Um . . . I . . .” As I struggled to figure out how
to respond to Barney’s request, Ned did it for me. He slipped up beside me and touched my arm.

“Hey, Nance!” he said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I signed us up to be partners in the Ping-Pong tournament in the new complex, and it’s going to start in five minutes.” Looking up, he seemed to notice Barney for the first time. “Oh . . . hey, man.” Ned nodded. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”

Barney waved his hand. “It’s cool.” He shot me a look of understanding. “Nancy was just telling me what a stand-up guy you are.”

Ned, bless his heart, blushed. “Oh . . . wow.” He squirmed a little, then gestured toward the complex. “Well, shall we? This other Ping-Pong team can’t beat us if we don’t show up.”

I chuckled. Ned wasn’t exaggerating; we’re both
terrible
at Ping-Pong. But it was fun to play, anyway.

“I signed up to play myself,” Barney said. “I should probably find my partner, Eloise.”

As we moved toward the complex, we ran into Bess and George again.

“Hey,” Bess said, touching my elbow, “do you know where the Ping-Pong tournament starts? George signed us up to play in the first round.”

“
George
did?” I asked, shooting my friend a joking glance. “Miss I-Hate-Sports? Miss Why-Aren’t-We-Funding-Chess-Club-Instead?”

George shook her head defiantly. “It’s not sports,” she said, “it’s Ping-Pong.”

Ned nodded. “And guess what? You’re looking at your competitors.”

“Wow.” George widened her eyes, taking us in. “What do you think, Bess? Do you think we can take these two?”

Bess’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it on!” she said, then added with a laugh, “Ping-Pong—the sport that unites athletes and nonathletes alike!”

Dear Diary,

I‘M SO HAPPY WE WERE
able to figure this one out! Boy was I wrong about Barney . . . but I still can’t believe that Julia would do that to her friend. I’d never want to hurt Bess or George.

I think I’ve definitely learned how dangerous politics can be, and I’ll certainly be staying out of campaigns, at least for a while. I’m off to see if I can teach Ned a thing or two about Ping-Pong! Until next time. . . .

Carolyn Keene
is the bestselling author of the popular Nancy Drew series of books.

Aladdin

SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK

authors.simonandschuster.com/Carolyn-Keene

Meet the author, watch videos, and get extras at

KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com

Read all the mysteries in the

NANCY DREW DIARIES

#1 Curse of the
Arctic Star

#2 Strangers on a Train

#3 Mystery of the Midnight Rider

#4 Once Upon a Thriller

#5 Sabotage at Willow Woods

And coming soon

#6 Secret at Mystic Lake

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.