The carson drew judge confirmation

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Carolyn Keene

Nancy Drew Girl Detective: Volume Forty-Four

Sabotage Surrender

Copyright, 2011, by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

I've watched the footage of the River Heights Carnival cash box heist over and over again. I can't shake the feeling that our suspect is someone I know or have met before. As the carnival sabotage continues, it looks our saboteur has a specific target: the Mahoney Scholarship Award ceremony.

There are four equally worthy candidates up for the scholarship. But that also makes them all equally worthy suspects in my eyes. Of course, the evidence is slowly mounting — threatening notes, arson — and I need to connect the hard facts to my suspicions.

On top of that, the intrigue is getting closer to home and my father is getting wrapped up in my case. George, Bess, and I need to solve it — and stop the saboteur — before Dad or someone else I love gets hurt.

DAY THREE

I clutched my oversize paper Club Coffee cup and swished the cold, sugary dregs of caffeine around. I took a sip and winced at what had once been a delicious drink.

Earlier this morning it had been an extra-large caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzled over the extra whipped cream with an extra shot of espresso. Earlier this morning it had been amazing and warm and delicious. Sadly, now the coffee was cold and bitter and no longer a priority for me after an hour of sitting in the front office of the school, watching the video footage of the thief over and over.

My only hope was that Bess or George would remember to bring me another caramel macchiato when they arrived later. Fingers crossed! To make sure, I pulled out my PDA and sent them each a text as a reminder.

EXTRA-LARGE CARAMEL MACCHIATO.

EXTRA CARAMEL DRIZZLED OVER

EXTRA WHIPPED CREAM. ADD AN

EXTRA SHOT OF ESPRESSO.

Bess responded first.omg!

George responded next.lol!

As for the thief, I’d watched the video footage, endlessly, on repeat — but I still couldn’t make out much about the actual thief. I had been poring over every inch of the screen. It was a somewhat shorter man dressed all in black, and that was about all I could see. Whoever he was he’d stolen the cash box full of carnival ticket money and gone to great lengths to make sure he couldn’t be identified by covering his tracks, casting blame onto others who happened to be in the area, and concealing any of his identifiable features such as hair color. A real professional, if you asked me.

The creepiest detail of all was that he seemed to know where the cameras were stationed around the school and therefore strategically kept to the shadows and out of their line of sight. Once in possession of the cash box, the thief had left the ticket booth and then immediately disappeared. This knowledge of the cameras’ location indicated a certain familiarity with the school. But how so? Was he a teacher? A current student? A former student? An administrator? A member of the janitorial staff? He had done an expert job, mapping out a near-perfect escape route, avoiding additional security cameras, and leaving little evidence behind. In fact, leaving behind only this footage.

So far in my review of the tape, all I’d noticed was that he’d stopped to scratch a spot to the bottom left of his collar a couple of times before placing his hands on the cash box to steal it away. This spot really seemed to bother him for some reason.

But by my seventeenth view or so of the footage, I noticed something different.

If you blinked, you would have missed it.

I watched it some more, and the more I watched the footage, the more clearly the gesture became somewhat of a clue to go on. The mystery man stopped, looked up toward the camera, and winked. He actually winked!

It was kind of far away and not the clearest of footage, granted, but I also knew a wink when I saw one. Yes, admittedly, I sometimes tended to take my cases a bit too personally, since I was the one who tended to solve them, rather than law enforcement, but for some reason I felt as though that wink was directed right at me. Like he knew I was hot on his trail. This only made me want to solve the mystery even more. I mean, how could it not have been directed at me? I had been on the trail of this criminal for two days now, moving into a third. I wanted nothing more than to bring this whole string of criminal activity to a close.

I hit rewind again and sat as close to the screen as I could without going cross-eyed. Mrs. Gruen — our housekeeper and a mother figure to me — would have yelled at me if she walked in and seen me. She loved to say that I would go blind if I sat too close to the television. I shrugged away her voice in my head, scolding me, and looked for the thief’s wink again. There it was — wink! I couldn’t tell you what color those eyes were, but one of them was definitely winking, as if to tell me he knew I was onto him. The wink was an acknowledgment that he was smarter than the police, smarter than me, and he wasn’t going to get caught.

According to my PDA, the time was 7:42 a.m. — eighteen minutes before the rest of the carnival volunteers would begin to show up and set up their stations.

“This could be considered breaking and entering, you know.” A deep voice broke the silence I’d settled into ages ago, making me jump about a foot out of my seat. “I’d hate to see you get arrested.”

I whipped around, half expecting the dark-hooded, ski-masked figure I’d been watching on the television monitor to be glaring back at me, maybe winking at me.

The playful, warm brown eyes and smiling, gorgeous face of my boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, appeared before me. “You scared me, Ned. I’m glad to see that it’s you and not someone else. I thought for a second you were our mystery man.”

Ned held out his hands. “Easy,” he soothed. “I’ve been cleared of all charges, remember? I am not responsible. I’m not the thief.”

Still distracted by the footage, I said, “I am looking at the thief right now.”

His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at me with a sweet yet accusing look. “I hope you haven’t been here all night,” he said. “Last time I left you, you were looking at this footage. Tell me you went home. Tell me you didn’t sleep here.”

“I didn’t sleep here, Ned.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Only an hour,” I said, pointing to the video footage. I rose from my seat and wrapped my arms around Ned, squeezing him as tight as I could. “How could I forget?” I asked. “It’s great to see you free and not behind bars.”

Ned laughed. “You totally would have come and visited me in jail.”

“Thankfully, I didn’t let the situation get to that point.”

Yesterday, Ned had been the first suspect in the theft of the cash box money. Just because he was working at the ticket booth and maybe... okay, definitely dozed off for a while, providing a moment for the thief to break into the booth and steal the cash box. So even though he didn’t steal the money, he had a certain amount of blame in the whole thing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at Ned for falling asleep at the counter. I mean, who does that? I’m just thankful that I was there to help prove his innocence. Otherwise, Mark Steele, the head of the carnival committee, and Chief McGinnis would have most likely arrested him.

People really had been treating this year’s annual River Heights’ Celebration differently. The reason? It seemed more important than years past — mostly, I assumed, due to Mrs. Mahoney’s involvement. Thanks to her generosity (and the money her late husband, Cornelius, left her in his will when he passed), everything was much more grand this year.

The rides, the food — even the traditional Daughter of River Heights Celebration parade were all more extravagant than ever.

Or at least, they were supposed to be.

Before the sabotage began.

Sabotage had become the word of the hour throughout this celebration. The rides, the cash box, even the food had been sabotaged, with a grill fire and food poisoning. Mara Stanfield, the president of the Daughters of River Heights Association, had a brick with a nasty note thrown through her house window. The cash from ticket sales wasn’t just going back to Mrs. Mahoney for what she’d spent on the carnival. No — today, the last day of the celebration, would conclude with the first annual Mahoney Scholarship Award ceremony, where one student would receive a full scholarship to the college or university of their choice. The other candidates would get to split the money from the ticket sales.

Maybe the answer to all this was buried in there somewhere.

“Yesterday was crazy,” Ned said, sipping my Club Coffee drink before I could stop him. He recoiled. “Gross. That tastes horrible. Why would you drink cold coffee? It tastes like a caramel train wreck.”

“Like I said, I’ve been here awhile.”

“How did you get in, anyway?” he asked. “The school had to have been locked.”

“When you’ve been solving cases for as long as I have, you acquire certain tricks of the trade.”

“Such as?”

I lifted up my key chain and held it by one particular silver key, shaking it, and making it jangle.

“Where did you get a key to the school, Nancy?”

“It doesn’t matter where I got the key, okay?” I said. “What matters is that I use it only when absolutely necessary.”

I couldn’t help but think that he was right on both counts, though — my coffee did taste like a caramel train wreck, and yesterday was crazy.

In fact, the last two days had been oddly interconnected with crime, each day with more sabotage and threatening blue notes than the one before. And those black smudges at the edges of the blue notes added a whole other layer of confusion.

It all started with Lexi Claremont, a client, who had hired me to infiltrate the it-girl clique, one of whom was my nemesis Deirdre Shannon, to figure out who had been writing a nasty blog about Lexi and sending her threatening messages. Thankfully, that mystery had been resolved well enough: Heather Harris, Lexi’s supposed BFF, had been keeping the blog.

And yesterday the missing cash box money was the main event. First Ned, and then Mara Stanfield were accused, each tapped as the main suspect at different points in the day. It took awhile, but once I approached our town psychic (I know, I didn’t think it would work either!), Lucia Gonsalvo, for assistance, she pointed me toward this video footage that not only proved Mara’s innocence, but showed that the notes and the serious sabotage were the handiwork of this winking, masked mastermind I’d been analyzing this morning.

The once super-fun River Heights Celebration had been all but canceled this year because of the fires and theft and life-threatening parade sabotage. It had been a virtual nightmare, actually, but I was so much closer to finding the main culprit responsible for the bulk of the criminal activity. I couldn’t help but wonder if or how Mara was involved. She had been targeted to be framed, which was no coincidence, in my opinion.

I rewound the tape again and watched the man in slow motion. He snuck into the ticket booth, completely disguised with a mask, then left, but not before winking.

I paused the video.

“Did you see that?” I asked Ned.

“He winked,” Mara said, standing in the doorway behind us.

Ned and I both jumped in our chairs.

“Mrs. Stanfield,” Ned said. “Good morning. Nancy and I were just reviewing the video footage from yesterday.”

“Find anything new?” she asked.

“Just this,” I said, and rewound the tape to the man winking again. “Creepy stuff.”

“I can’t believe we have evidence of the culprit but can’t figure out who’s causing these horrible things to happen,” she said. “You two should get out of here. I wouldn’t want either of you to get in trouble being in here unsupervised. I think I saw George and Bess by the ring-toss game, Nancy. They were asking about you. Somehow I knew you would be here.”

“I’m going to solve this mystery today,” I said. “I promise.”

“You need to be careful. This person is unpredictable,” Mara said. Then she paused and looked at me with kind eyes. “Which reminds me. I wanted to thank you for everything yesterday. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t proven my innocence.”

I was shocked at her gratitude and hoped my surprise didn’t show on my face. This woman never apologized, which only showed what a big deal her words were to me. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Stanfield.” I felt uncomfortable and changed the subject. “Lexi Claremont is presenting the Mahoney Scholarship Award tonight, right?” I asked.

“She is,” Mara said. “Why? You think all the notes and missing money and fires have to do with the scholarship?”

“Everything from the carnival to the scholarship is paid for by Mrs. Mahoney and the Mahoney Foundation. Her husband was Cornelius Mahoney, a local businessman,” I said.

“How do you know all of this?” Mara asked.

“Mrs. Mahoney has a very high opinion of me. She’s one of my dad’s clients, so I know her a little. And more importantly, I know how much this scholarship means to her and how much it would mean to whoever wins it.”

“Okay, enough for now. Get out of here, you two,” said Mara.

Ned and I stood and left the front office of the school, leaving Mara behind.

As we walked toward the front door I heard the machine rewind and the tape play back twice before we were outside. Mara stayed behind, watching the video footage just like I’d been doing since early that morning.

SQUARE ONE

“Let’s stop by the fro-yo stand and grab a snack,” Ned said, walking with me to meet Bess and George over by the ring toss. “I didn’t have breakfast this morning, and I’m starving. I have to get something before I head over to the ticket booth.”

“Absolutely not, Ned,” I said. “My time there is finished. The only reason I worked there in the first place was to infiltrate that mean-girl clique and help Lexi out with her case. Now that her case is over, I have served my last fro-yo. You would have to either blindfold me or give me an amazing ultimatum to convince me to go back there. That being said, if you need a fro-yo to stay awake at the ticket booth today, then by all means, go ahead without me.”

Ned laughed and pulled me closer to him, hugging me again. “You really did look cute working the fro-yo stand, Nancy. I could have gotten used to having a girlfriend sliding me free fro-yos.”

“You are the only person allowed to think that, but you also have to let it go, since it will never happen again. My fro-yo days are thankfully long gone.”

“Do you want me to tell Lexi and Deirdre that you send your love and want to hang out later?” He laughed, enjoying the fact that he got me to smile at his teasing sense of humor. “Yes? No?”

“Ned, two things — one, it’s too early to joke about my time at the fro-yo stand and two, do me a favor, be careful at the ticket booth today. I’m not saying anything like yesterday is going to happen today, but you can’t fall asleep again. Mark Steele already hates you for doing it once. We got lucky that we were able to recoup the money. Just don’t give him another reason to ask you to leave.”

“I promise, Nancy. Will you make me a promise?”

“So long it doesn’t have to do with a fro-yo,” I said.

“Whatever else you do today, the first thing you need to do is get a fresh coffee.” He took my cold Club Coffee cup out of my hands and threw it away in a nearby trash can. “It’s over. It’s cold. It’s gross. Get a new one.”

Ned waved good-bye as he headed off for his fro-yo breakfast and I moved toward the ring toss to meet the girls.

It was odd to think about where this had all began.

I thought for the longest time that all the sabotage had been coming from within the clique. Like Lexi or Deirdre or even Aly Stanfield, Mara’s daughter. But once everyone began receiving blue notes and one of the carnival food stations had a fire and a ride malfunctioned and the parade float had its tragic fire, it became clear that this was bigger than a high school spat. Whoever the saboteur was, he intended on sabotaging the entire carnival, not just a select few individuals.

Although it began with Lexi, who just so happened to be the face of this year’s River Heights Celebration, it was a much larger issue than her.

Regardless, there would be no fro-yo in my future. Nor would there be heels or uncomfortable girly-girl clothes.

Today was an easy day of jeans and a simple yellow tank top — and most importantly, sandals without heels.

I met George and Bess both standing at the ring-toss booth, where Sunshine Lawrence was enjoying her usual lack of customers and oversize cup of Club Coffee. Sunshine was sporting her everyday all black with heavy black cat-eye eyeliner. As usual, she wore her midnight black hair, short and cut at a dramatic angle, her blunt-cut bangs swept to the side in a single black barrette with a beautiful red heart at the clasp. She had a new stack of books behind the table, and her computer was open to a document.

Bess was decked out in a cute little sundress, typical for her, and George, like me, was comfortable in jeans. Both Bess and George had cups of Club Coffee too.

“Ladies,” I said, “which one of those beautiful cups of coffee is for me?”

Bess and George laughed at the same time, before both extending their coffees to me.

“Both?” I asked.

“You texted us each the same order,” Bess said.

“So we got two extra-large caramel macchiatos with extra caramel drizzled over the extra whipped cream with an extra shot of espresso,” George said.

I couldn’t believe it. It was like a dream come true — two coffees! But so as not to be a complete loser friend, I split the drinks equally among us, so we could all share in the delicious goodness.

“How’s the ring-toss business, Sunshine? Are you writing or reading today?” I asked as I approached the table.

“With all the excitement and activity of the past two days?” Sunshine said. “I’m writing a lot, actually. I’ve read eight books, too. So I guess you could say that ring toss is really slow, so I’m getting a lot of time to be creative.”

“We were just filling Sunshine in on what we discovered last night,” Bess said. “What we found out from the psychic.”

“About the man in the video footage,” George added. “How Mara didn’t steal any money from the ticket booth.”

“So you have to start the investigation all over again?” Sunshine asked. “That stinks!”

“It’s the worst,” George said. “The last two days have been nothing but hard word — and all for nothing, it seems.”

“All the evidence we’ve collected is useless,” Bess continued. “Or at least seems less helpful.”

“Except for the videotape. We have footage of the person responsible,” I said. “That’s pretty important.”

“But you still don’t know who it is, which I bet is frustrating,” Sunshine said.

“Girls, we have to remain positive here. Everyone is scared. Look at the carnival. Because of all of the sabotage, it’s dead, empty. Everyone is scared to come because of the fires and notes and robbery. We have to pick up the investigation and find out who is causing all this.”

George and Bess looked at each other. George threw a ring at a series of bottles and missed, the ring clanking around before hitting the ground. Bess took a ring from George and threw it at the bottles and missed, too. Finally I took the last ring from George, and without looking, tossed the ring at the bottles. The ring sailed through the air in a direct shot toward the bottles before looping around the neck of a bottle and sliding down.

George and Bess were stunned.

Sunshine laughed. “Nancy Drew, you are a natural at ring toss.”

“We can’t afford to be negative right now, girls,” I said. “River Heights needs our help. Think of everything we’ve done these past few days. Think of all the people who’ve needed our help. We shut down that silly, hateful blog. We saved people from the float that caught on fire. Not to mention clearing people’s names who were accused of stealing — Ned and Mara.”

“We also solved the mystery of why people kept calling you Fancy Nancy,” Bess said, stifling laughter. “That was a big mystery.”

“Very funny,” I said.

“Fancy Nancy,” George said, laughing. “Heather Harris started a very good mystery by calling you that name. She really doesn’t like you, Fancy Nancy.”

Bess, George, and Sunshine laughed like this was something completely hilarious. I wasn’t nearly as amused.

“And that was the only real mystery we solved yesterday,” I said. “We never figured out who is causing all this sabotage, which is why we must do it today.”

“More importantly is the why,” Sunshine said. “The question of who is responsible is good too, but why they continue to do it is what keeps eluding us. The why is what everyone keeps talking about.”

“Could it be a competing school who’s doing this, Sunshine?” I asked.

“Maybe a rival who wants to see River Heights embarrassed or scared?” Bess asked.

“Is there a football rival? Or soccer? Or some other kind of sport?” George asked.

“I don’t think so,” Sunshine said. “Our rivalries are pretty innocent affairs. We’re competitive but not violent, no nasty notes or arson.”

“What about a grudge?” asked George. “Who would have a grudge against River Heights? Or the students? Or the Celebration?”

“That’s a really big question,” Sunshine said. “There are always unhappy people.”

“Sunshine is right,” I said. “Unfortunately, you know what this means.”

“Yeah, we’re back to square one,” Bess said.

And we all hated to agree.

We were all quiet, staring at my ring, which still hung from the bottle behind the table. Sunshine handed us each another ring to toss, before stepping back.

“You all need a distraction while you brainstorm. This next ring toss is on the house,” Sunshine said. “If one of you makes this toss, you can bet that the mystery will be solved by the end of the day.”

George readied herself, aiming her ring and stretching it out toward the bottles, before pulling it back in slowly. Finally she spoke. “So, square one. After the fire at the sausage-and-peppers cart and the corn dog food poisoning, the food vendors were each targeted with threatening notes.” George snapped her wrist and released the ring, which ricocheted off the side of a bottle. She was nowhere near close to looping the neck of the bottle.

Bess stepped up next. “The roller coaster was sabotaged to malfunction. Then the parade float burst into flames yesterday — right in the middle of the parade. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the parade was the intended target. The notes warned us to stop the parade. We didn’t stop it, and it was sabotaged.” Bess bent her knees, before flicking her wrist and sailing the ring through the air. Sadly for her, she put so much force behind the ring that it flew over the bottles and slammed into the canvas wall on the back of the booth. “Oops,” she said. “I was way off track.”

“There is one other possibility,” I said.

“Which is?” said George.

“The Mahoney Scholarship,” I said. “The award ceremony is tonight.”

“Really? You think? For a scholarship?” Bess asked.

“You mean that one of the candidates could want to win so bad that they’re willing to put the other contestants’ lives at risk?” George asked.

“The prize is a full college scholarship. That’s an awful lot of money, especially in a time when college tuition is beyond expensive to pay for without loans,” I said.

“Who are the candidates?” Bess asked.

Sunshine rattled off the names. “Shaz Morgan. Michael Kahlid, Seth Preston, and... Aly Stanfield. Two of them are girls, and you said that the mystery person you’re looking for is a man, but maybe they know more about it than you think.”

The girls were quiet.

“Aly seems unlikely — her entire room is a shrine to Harvard, and her mother, Mara Stanfield, is the president of the PTA and the Daughters of River Heights. There is no way she would rig this so Aly could win — she knows if anyone found out, Aly’s future would be affected. Besides, it makes a lot of sense that Mara would have been targeted yesterday. Maybe someone else is trying to remove her and Aly from the competition,” I said. “Like a threat or black mail.”

“Do you know anything about Shaz, Michael, or Seth?” George asked Sunshine.

“Besides the fact that they all embrace pocket protectors and a rigid schedule of homework on Saturday nights?” Sunshine snarked. “I know very little.”

Bess tossed her a look. These candidates were smart and as deserving of the prize as Aly. It really could have been any one of them.

George finally snapped, “You need to tell us as much as you can about them.”

“Okay, okay,” Sunshine acquiesced. “Shaz is pretty much a tomboy, as you would expect a tomboy to be — not so into a girly appearance as you, Bess.”

Bess smiled.

Sunshine continued, “She’s into science and math and wants to go to Harvard Medical School. She and Aly have been competing for valedictorian since they were in diapers, but Shaz cares much less about fitting in. Aly runs with that whole mean-girl crowd, as you know. Whereas Shaz is just a total techie. That might be a good place to start.”

Bess and I both looked to George, who raised her hands and said, “I’m on it, I’m on it. Shaz Morgan? Got it. Sounds like the spitting image of me, anyway. Send the tech girl to investigate the other tech girl.”

I laughed. “George, never have you had a more appropriate subject to follow and research. Do you have any new gizmo or gadgets to use?”

“I constantly have tricks up my sleeve. Don’t you worry about me.”

“What about Michael and Seth?” Bess asked.

Sunshine giggled. “Seth likes to fancy himself a total ladies’ man, even though he couldn’t be further from that. He loves to talk about himself, look at himself, reference himself, and basically worship himself.”

Seth Preston sounded right up Bess’s alley as far as a smart, cute, charming boy was concerned. Although he didn’t necessarily sound as charming as he believed himself to be.

Bess smoothed down her cute little dress and adjusted the straps of her gladiator sandals. “Seth Preston, you are about to be Bess Marvined,” she said.

“You realize he could very well be behind all this sabotage,” I reminded her. “Don’t let the fact that he might be charming and attractive distract you from seeking the truth.”

“Nancy, I would never. I will remain professional. How is my hair?” she asked George, pulling out a compact and looking at her reflection in the tiny mirror.

“Which leaves us with Michael Kahlid?” I prompted.

“Good luck with him,” said Sunshine. “He’s the shyest kid I’ve ever met. And if you catch him on a bad day, then he’ll be oddly standoffish. I mean, I keep a pretty low profile and even I barely know anything about him. If I had to point my finger at any one of them, I’d say he’s probably the closest to being a true suspect.”

As I listened to Sunshine tell us how little she knew about Michael, I noticed her blushing, a red patch spreading over her pale skin — the same shade of apple red as her lipstick. I leaned over, grabbed a blue receipt paper from Sunshine’s cash box, and scrawled his name across it.

“Sunshine,” I said, “is there anything you want to add about Michael?”

“No. Why?” she said.

“Nothing?” I asked.

“I hardly know him.”

“But you wish you did?” I persisted.

She didn’t answer, so I took a cue from our mystery man and winked at Sunshine. She continued to blush. I turned to Bess and George, who were ready to focus on their targets.

“Let me know if you find out anything interesting,” I said, and then released my ring, which was another direct shot at the bottle I’d looped before. This time was just like the last — a direct hit, two for two, one on top of the other.

“Bull’s-eye,” Bess said.

“Oh my God,” said George.

“This is a good sign,” Sunshine said, sipping from her coffee cup, enjoying every bit of it. I imagined her coffee was not at all gross and cold like mine earlier today. I drank my new coffee, and it tasted like a delicious caramel treat.

It felt like a good sign, but I didn’t want to jinx anything, so I said nothing and went looking for Michael Kahlid.

SEEKING MICHAEL KAHLID

I didn’t have much to go on as far as looking for Michael Kahlid, so I thought the easiest thing to do would be to simply ask the volunteers that I passed and hope that one of them either knew what he looked like or knew where I could find him. This proved to be more difficult than I originally had thought, as no one knew of him or where he might be.

I walked across the carnival, checking out the food court and ride section also to make sure everything was running smoothly. I stopped at the funnel-cake stand and asked if they had received another blue note today, but they hadn’t. I asked the people at the Ferris wheel if they had seen anything strange happening today, any strange behavior, stranger men, if they had had any mechanical failures, if they had received any blue notes. They hadn’t. None of the above.

I passed the fro-yo stand, but only walked faster and said nothing. I didn’t even look in their general direction. The last thing I wanted to do was engage with those girls again. I peeked over at the table as I passed, and the girls were sitting down, chatting and looking bored.

Granted it was early, but the number of people eating and riding the Ferris wheel and other rides was low. None of the rides had any lines waiting, and the benches surrounding the food section were all but empty.

In addition, I asked each of the volunteers, and not one person knew of a Michael Kahlid.

I walked to the ticket booth to check on Ned, and when I arrived, he smiled that amazing Ned Nickerson smile.

“Ned,” I said, standing at the entrance, “I hope you haven’t been napping again, because you remember what happened yesterday.” I shot him a smile back.

Ned shook his head. “Yes. Sound asleep. All day.” We both laughed. “Honestly, though, it has been really slow. I think the parade fire really scared people off.”

“Did you enjoy your fro-yo this morning?”

“Can you believe that the booth wasn’t even open first thing this morning? I mean, can you believe that? I just asked Mara, and she said it was because there were no real customers, so the girls decided to delay opening the stand. She also said that volunteers who wanted a fro-yo really didn’t count. I am just beside myself over this.” He smiled again.

“Yeah, I noticed the same thing walking around. The crowd is very thin compared to yesterday.”

“Mr. Steele said that if things didn’t pick up he was going to cancel the ceremony tonight for the Mahoney Scholarship Award too.”

“Can he do that?” I asked.

“I guess so.”

“Well, I’m looking for a kid named Michael Kahlid. Do you know of him?”

“Funny you should ask. He just stopped by. Said he needed to get into the school for something. I asked him his name, and that was the name he gave me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That it’s closed to students. He didn’t like that answer.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He huffed at me and stormed off across the parking lot. My guess —”

“He tries to break into the school.”

“Exactly,” Ned said.

I used my secret school key to unlock the door again and stepped into the dark and quiet hallway. The floors looked super shiny, reflecting my shadow out in front of me.

I passed several classrooms, but no one was in any of them. The lights were off and the chairs flipped up on top of the desks. I had turned a corner and was facing another long hallway of darkness when I heard a squeak echo out from the end.

I moved quickly toward the sound, looking over my shoulder in case Mr. Steele or someone from school was following me.

Soon I saw a room with a light on. It was the upper school art classroom. It was all the way at the end of the hall, but if it turned out Michael Kahlid was there, it would be totally worth it.

A teenager stood inside the sunlit art classroom, molding and shaping a pile of gray clay — something that looked like a big bowl, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous and commit to what it was and be completely wrong. That wouldn’t be the best way to gain the confidence of a complete stranger, especially when I was investigating him as the mystery man.

I stood at the back of the classroom for a while, hoping he would look up and see me, but he never did. His focus and attention were solely on this clay bowl thing he was manipulating. Finally I cleared my throat, and he looked up but gave me only a glance. He hardly stopped at all.

“How did you get in here?” he finally asked.

“How did I?” The nerve of this kid, I thought. “How did you get in here?”

“I have means and purposes,” he said.

“Well, you aren’t supposed to be here. The school is closed to students without chaperones.”

“Good thing you’re here, then. You can be my chaperone, can’t you?”

“You’re missing the point,” I said. “You broke into school. That’s illegal. I am not your chaperone.”

“If I broke into school, then I guess so did you,” he said.

“I have keys,” I said, jangling them at him.

“It’s as simple as this — if you have keys, then you are my chaperone, right? Who else is given keys to a school? Otherwise, you’re are trespassing too, in which case you and I are in the same boat.”

This kid was getting on my nerves with his conversational tennis match. I wasn’t about to let him score any more points.

“Are you Michael Kahlid?” I finally asked.

He cleared his throat, blushing just like Sunshine had done. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Nancy Drew.”

He stopped molding and looked up again. “Seriously? Nancy Drew. The Nancy Drew? Everyone is talking about how you saved people from the fire yesterday and proved Mara Stanfield’s innocence with the fake purse. Pradi versus Prada.” He laughed. “Good work.”

“I had help from some very important people. And most of those important people have been asking a lot of questions about this kid named Michael Kahlid, who is up for an amazing award tonight. Problem is that no one seems to know very much about you, which is why I’m here.”

“Oh yeah. Like people care that much about a bunch of smart kids up for an award that ensures that they don’t go into debt getting a college education. I highly doubt it.”

He had a good point, one that ultimately gave him a terrific motive for sabotage. If he for some reason were able to scare off his competition, he stood to gain a virtually free college education.

“Why do you doubt it?” I asked, moving farther inside the room, sitting at the table across from him.

“I want to go to Cornell University, Nancy. Do you know anything about Cornell University?”

“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

“It’s an Ivy League school. A very good one. A very expensive one. And for an only child, it’s a school that two hard-working parents who don’t have a lot of money cannot afford to send their only son to attend. So their only son spends his free time working on his art and filling out applications for every and all scholarships available. I can’t rely on just one to come through. I have to play the field.”

“Unless you get some financial help. From one of the scholarships.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You’ll excuse me for not jumping for joy that you’re the only person to understand that very real financial idea of college, but I’m working here. I need to focus my attention on something that really matters.”

I didn’t fully understand what he meant by that, so I pushed forward from a different angle.

“I see that you’re an artist. What are you making?” Immediately after asking this question, I regretted it, because I knew his response before he even opened his mouth.

“What do you think it looks like?”

“A bowl?”

“See, you people, I mean, no one understands what an artist does. No one understands the artistic process.”

“What do you mean? It isn’t a bowl?”

“My art. You see it but don’t understand it.”

“Well, explain it to me. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“That’s just my point. No one at this school even knows who I am. No one knows anything about me. You know more than most. I am smart. I am artistic. I am up for a scholarship, and you think I’m behind all this sabotage.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, you might as well have, otherwise, why would you be here? If I thought some kid was behind it all, I’d be here too. It’s the next logical group of people to examine — the scholarship candidates. But I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s not me.

“No one knows anything about me,” he went on. “No one ever has, and probably, no one ever will. That’s the truth. That’s just the reality of the situation.”

“What does that mean?”

“I just mean no one cares about some quiet, shy, artistic kid who keeps to himself and might be a little blunt as a means to keep people away. I think this conversation is over.”

“Michael, I don’t think you have anything to do with the notes or fires or the sabotage yesterday. I just wanted to get to know you a little better. Since tonight’s award ceremony is the biggest event since the parade yesterday, I’m trying to prepare for more sabotage to take place.”

“Nancy,” he said.

“Yes, Michael,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me. I have enough people in my life who lie to me. I don’t need another. You do think I have something to do with all of this, don’t you?”

“Look, I’ll tell you the truth. Before I met you, I’d formed an opinion about you based on what I’d heard, but that’s changed.” Actually, I wasn’t sure what I thought of him at this point, but I wanted him to believe what I said.

“Thanks for being honest.” Michael stood up and pointed to the door. “I would like you to leave now. I have to finish this bowl and I would like to do so in private, please.”

“If it’s not a bowl, then would you tell me what it is? A plate? A vase? What?” I was sure these guesses were wrong as well, but I wanted to try one last time to get him to open up. But Michael was closed off and giving me no new information.

“Let’s just call it a bowl and leave it at that.”

THREE SUSPECTS

On my way back across the parking lot from the school to the food court, I noticed the line to the ticket booth at the entrance to the carnival and was excited to see crowds of people arriving. How exciting! This was a great sign. The fear of the past two days had to be subsiding if the crowds were coming back out. At the same time, it was a good reminder that the saboteur really needed to be discovered — quickly.

I passed Joshua Andrews, the baker who was angry at Mark Steele yesterday for not renting him a booth for his bakery.

“Mr. Andrews,” I said. “How are you today?”

“Much better than yesterday, Ms. Drew. I finally have a booth,” he said with a smile. “They gave me what I wanted, and I can finally sell all my bread.”

“Really?”

“Mark Steele finally broke down and gave me a booth after he got the cash back yesterday from the ticket booth. I think he reconsidered and realized how popular my booth would be.”

“That’s terrific news. You were pretty mad yesterday,” I said. “I’m just glad to see you happy again.”

Mr. Andrews laughed. “I know. But all is settled now.” He continued on past the ticket booth and up into the food court. Before he disappeared in the crowd, he turned and waved to me again, smiling.

Although the day had started out slowly, it was picking up now and looked like it would be very busy after all. Ned was busy behind the ticket booth, greeting people and selling them tickets.

I met George and Bess back at our picnic table to share what information we’d been able to discover. Both girls seemed somewhat irritated, which only led me to believe that their subjects had been either less than accommodating or complete dead ends.

George had this look on her face that I had only ever seen before when one of her new gadgets had arrived broken and she had to return it to the sender. She started to talk and I could tell right away that she was not happy about what she had learned.

“Shaz Morgan and I could not have clashed more,” George began.

“What happened?” Bess asked, sipping a new, smaller Club Coffee.

“We had so much in common that I thought it would be so easy. Boy was I wrong. At first she seemed to be interested in a lot of the same stuff that I am, but I found out that was most certainly not the case.”

“Well, what exactly happened?” I asked.

“What is she interested in?” Bess said.

“Shaz is only interested in technology for the advancement of medical research and practicality. That’s it. No room for variety. That’s all she talked about. I would tell you anything else about her if she’d offered it up to me. Whether she liked baseball or the Beatles or reality television, but she doesn’t. Or at least she didn’t talk about anything else. Only that one very specific, very particular, very boring thing.”

Bess and I looked at each other in complete bewilderment. This girl sounded like a perfect candidate for the scholarship. I was sure she had a very high GPA and had the extracurricular activities to warrant being at this final level of the award ceremony, but my main question was this — does a person who is interested only in the advancement of medical research and practicality waste time planning and executing carnival sabotage, intense note writing, and arson? My hunch was probably not.

“What does that phrase even mean?” Bess asked. “The advancement of whatever it was that she said.”

“She is a super-nerd,” said George. “She is interested in math and science, and math and science only. She is set on winning this scholarship and is already going over her notes for her acceptance speech.”

“What?” I asked. This was interesting.

“That’s what she was doing when I found her. Presumptuous much, right?”

George took a long breath and exhaled slowly. “She totally annoyed me, like, immediately annoyed me. She was preparing her thank-yous. Granted they were all for her professors or mentors in those specific fields, but she made it look like she was a shoo-in. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going to win.”

“Did you find out anything useful?” I asked.

Bess continued. “Does she have any enemies? Did she say anything incriminating about anything other than science or math? Maybe she’s made some people very unhappy while she’s explored this scientific field.”

We all already knew the answers to those questions.

“You know, it’s funny that you ask that. There was one thing that definitely came to light through all her medical nerdiness.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Shaz and Aly have a rivalry that runs deeper than anyone knows. The only thing is that it has nothing to do with science.”

“What then?” I asked.

“Their GPAs are only one-tenth of a point apart,” George said.

“Who’s in the lead?” Bess asked.

“Shaz,” George said. “Interesting, right?”

“Did she say anything specifically about Aly?” I asked, both excited and terrified at the same time to be hearing this. Depending on the answer, our entire investigation could potentially shoot off in a completely different direction.

“Oh, you bet she had a lot to say,” George said.

“They always do,” said Bess, shaking her head.

“Shaz didn’t have any problem coming up with bad things to say about Aly at all. Aly and her overprivileged lifestyle. The main theme of her dislike of Aly comes from the fact that, like most of the kids at this school, the Stanfields are rich enough to buy Aly’s way into any Ivy League. Shaz believes that she should win based on her merit alone, but that Aly’s financial influence will ultimately win out.” “Let me guess,” I said. “Shaz had to claw her way to the top.”

“Exactly her words,” George said. “She had to claw her way to the top, and the rich kids have an unfair advantage.”

“Already going over her acceptance speech?” Bess said.

“There’s no competition for her,” George said. “She doesn’t see anyone who could possibly measure up to her accomplishments.”

This was intriguing — the first of three suspects, Shaz Morgan.

I wondered to myself just how much, exactly, Shaz knew about the outcome of the Scholarship Award ceremony. And if she knew she’d already won, had she done something to make that happen? If so, what could it possibly have been? The blue notes? The brick through Aly and Mara’s window? It didn’t sound like she was exactly in love with her fellow classmates either. This certainly didn’t convict her of any crime, but made it more difficult for me to discount her as a suspect. Would she even hesitate to hurt them to get what she wanted? It was conceivable that she had a hand in some of these sabotaged events, but that was still impossible to prove.

Her answers were certainly leading, but not concrete enough to focus solely on her as the manipulator of events.

“Now, there are three judges of this award ceremony, correct?” Bess asked.

“Yes,” said George.

“Do you think she’s capable of blackmailing the judges?” I asked.

George shrugged. “Is it possible? Sure.”

“Do you think she did blackmail them?” Bess asked.

“I don’t know. It’s well within the realm of possibility, I’ll say that much. She is a live wire, that Shaz Morgan. I’ll say this: Next time, Bess, you are speaking to her and I’ll take the good-looking boy.”

“You realize what we need to do?” I waited for the girls to answer, but they didn’t. “We need to find out who the judges are. And stat,” I said.

“How do we do that, though?” Bess asked. “Because I think they keep that information secret. For this very reason, actually. So that people can’t bribe or sway the judges in any one direction.”

“Shaz said the same thing to me,” George said. “She claimed to have no idea who the judges were because it was a secret in order to keep a level field of opportunity, or something like that.”

“What makes the most sense to me, I think, is that we approach Aly Stanfield about this, since her mother is the president of practically every organization in school.”

“They don’t have a nickname for Mara for nothing,” Bess agreed.

“Supamom,” I said. “If I know Aly, she’ll tell us what we want to know; we just need to ask the right questions.”

“Well, how about you, Bess? How was your subject? What did you find out about Mr. Gorgeous Boy?” George asked, still holding a grudge that she’d had to investigate the dull and boring Shaz.

“As you both know, I was very excited to meet Seth Preston.”

“You practically ran out of here,” said George. “I’d say that you being excited is an extreme understatement.”

“Give me a good-looking man any day of the week, right?” Bess closed her eyes and collected herself. “Was he handsome? Yes, Seth Preston was handsome. Was I excited for him to open his mouth and speak? Absolutely. When he eventually did speak, did he say anything of importance? Absolutely not.”

“What did he say?” asked George.

“He was waaaaay too into himself and spent most of the time trying to convince me to escort him to the Award ceremony. The only problem was that he kept talking to me about himself in third person. So gross.”

“He did realize that you weren’t hitting on him?” I asked. “He must have known by the types of questions you were asking that you were digging for information? No one is that dumb.”

“You would think so,” Bess said. “But, sadly, no. He had no idea. When I asked him why he hadn’t asked anyone as a date to the ceremony, he told me he already had a date but that I was way hotter and he’d dump his current date in a second if I agreed to go with him. He preferred to be seen with a hottie, not a nottie.”

“Gross,” I said.

“Double gross,” George said.

“Well, what did you say?” I asked. “How does one handle that situation?”

“Nancy, are you kidding me? I said no. It was an easy situation to handle.”

“We can agree that he is a slimeball,” I said. “No argument here. But is he capable of committing any of the crimes we’ve seen these past few days? Do you think he’s responsible for all the sabotage?”

Bess thought for a minute, then responded, “Anyone who speaks about himself in the third person is capable of anything. I wouldn’t rule him out of anything. But honestly, I don’t think so.”

“How does someone talk in the third person?” George asked.

“Oh, you want an example?” asked Bess.

“Sure,” George said.

Bess cleared her throat. “Seth Preston wants you to go home, put on a gown, and be his date for the ceremony tonight. Seth thinks you are way hotter than his current date. Seth Preston is happy to be Seth Preston because Seth Preston is one awesome dude. Seth wants to date you tonight.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Truly,” Bess said.

“I’m afraid we have three suspects,” I said.

“Really?” asked Bess.

“Michael Kahlid is an artist with an edge. Like a lot of these candidates, he also wants to attend an Ivy League school and was very evasive when it came to answering my questions. He didn’t say anything to rule him out as a suspect and avoided questions that made him sound more like a suspect.”

“He’s an artist?” George asked.

“He was sculpting clay when I found him, and he called himself and artist too. He struck me as intense and very sensitive.”

“What was he making?” asked Bess.

“I thought he was making a bowl, but when I asked that very question and guessed it was a bowl, he freaked out. Clearly it wasn’t a bowl, but I have no idea what it was meant to be.”

“Suspect three?” Bess asked.

“We have three suspects that we need to narrow down to one.” I grabbed George’s arm and looked at her watch. “We have four hours. Four hours and counting until the awards ceremony.”

“What do we do now?” said Bess.

“I suck it up and go get a fro-yo,” I said reluctantly. “Find Aly at the stand and get answers.”

“Why don’t we all go?” George suggested.

“Strength in numbers,” Bess said.

“No, girls,” I said. “I have to go this one alone. We’ll have a better shot at getting the information if I’m going by myself. It’ll be okay. I just need to do my best to avoid Heather Harris.”

“What if she’s there?” asked Bess.

“Then I’ll just have to deal as best I can.”

“Prepare yourself to be called Fancy Nancy,” Bess said.

“Yeah, oh jeez. I can’t wait,” I said.

THREE JUDGES

As I approached the fro-yo stand, the mean girls behind the table all shot me evil looks. I’d figured that would be their reaction, but I needed to speak with Aly, so I pushed forward. I wasn’t surprised, and it didn’t hurt my feelings at all. I was entering enemy territory with a mission and had to stick to the plan.

Yesterday we had all been friends, or at least tolerant of one another, but I’d also infiltrated their inner circle to find out who was writing that nasty blog. Now that the investigation was over, things were a little more difficult. I knew what I was up against and needed to keep my emotions in check.

I hated this moment more than anyone could possibly know. It wasn’t too long ago that I had been on the other side of things, wearing too cute clothes, pretending to be part of the group, volunteering to make fro-yos and figuring out the inner workings of the mean-girl clique to solve the blog mystery. This kind of pressure was all part of the detective job title, part of the ups and downs, the pros and cons, the expected hurdles.

I would say this, though — based on how put-together and well styled these girls looked, I was definitely feeling way more comfortable than any of them in their kitten or wedge heels. Bess loved that she’d gotten to dress me up for this assignment to become one of the mean girls and work the fro-yo stand, but I was so happy be back to my normal casual self. Sheesh!

I stood in a small line of customers, waiting to face the wall of girls as they moved about filling cups and cones with vanilla and chocolate yogurt. They scooped sprinkles and fresh fruit onto the yogurt with attitude. I was nervous to approach them and prepared myself for a verbal battle.

I cringed, standing there, waiting in front of the fro-yo stand, like waiting to be sentenced by a judge. But I reminded myself that I really needed to speak with Aly and get to the bottom of this Mahoney award thing. It was imperative to find out about the judges, who they were and if it was possible that any of them could be involved with the sabotage. Sometimes an investigator or detective needed to put themselves in the line of fire in order to find answers.

“Well, look who it is,” Heather Harris said, stepping to the table and cocking her hip, placing her hand slowly at her side. It was classic mean girl in all the expected ways.

“Hi,” I said, locking eyes with Heather and not breaking away. I didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, especially not by Heather, but I wasn’t about to let her intimidate me.

“I don’t think anyone here has anything to say to you,” she said. “In fact, after everything you’ve done, I’m pretty surprised you’re actually standing in front of us right now.”

“Heather, hello. It’s nice to see you again.” I kept my cool and tried to stay focused on speaking to Aly. That was the most important thing.

“What kind of fro-yo would you like, Fancy Nancy?” Heather asked. “I know that Ned stopped by earlier.”

“He said you were closed,” I said.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t closed,” Heather said. “Sorry. Well, no. We’re not sorry. We just saw him coming and decided not to serve him. Because we don’t like you.” She smirked. “So we don’t like him, Fancy Nancy.”

“Funny. Fancy Nancy. That was a good one. Remind me to thank you for that nickname. I had everyone from my dad to my friends calling me that yesterday. So thank you. That was really awesome. And how sweet that you wouldn’t serve Ned because you don’t like me. Seems awfully petty. Not to mention good for business.”

And I guess I have you to thank for just being a major pain in my life. A cute little nickname was the least I could do. So glad you liked it.”

“We can go back and forth all day long, Heather.”

“Yeah, Fancy Nancy, we can. And you know what? I’d win the verbal battle too.”

I held up my hand to Heather. “Despite what your ego might be telling you, I am not here to speak to you.”

She closed her mouth and took a step back, surprised. “Who could you possibly want to speak with here?”

“Contrary to your crazy thought process, I actually need to speak to Aly, not you.” I turned to Aly directly, who was standing sheepishly off to the side and looked just as shocked as Heather without looking at any of the other girls. “Aly, can I talk to you for a sec?” I asked. Then I turned back to Heather. “I just need to speak to her. Five minutes. And for a change, this is something that doesn’t have to do with you.”

Heather turned, flipped her hair, and marched off.

Aly glanced at the other girls, but nodded to me anyway and stepped to the side, inviting me to walk with her.

“Thank you, Aly,” I said. “I know this isn’t easy. Your friends pretty much hate me right now, so I’ll keep this short.”

“What’s up, Nancy?” Aly asked. “We need to make this quick. I have work to do and, yeah, I really can’t spend that much time with you. Fro-yos to serve and change to make, you know?”

“Right, you have fro-yos to sling,” I said. “I get it.”

“And I really can’t be seen speaking to you for very long. No offense,” she said, smiling sympathetically, I thought. “It’s just kind of like social paralysis.”

“Wow, okay,” I said. “I’ll cut right to it. I was just wondering... your mom does a lot at the school. That’s why they call her Supamom.”

“I know. I hate that name.”

“Well, she kind of is a supermom,” I said. “And it’s totally not a bad thing. I mean, that’s why I went out of my way yesterday to help her out. Remember? She was accused of stealing the money? And I proved that she didn’t do it.”

I knew that this was a lame way to get on Aly’s good side, but I needed to find out about the judges, and guilting Aly into helping me might just get me exactly what I needed.

“Yes, you really saved her. Thanks for that. I mean it. I’m not sure what she would have done otherwise,” Aly said.

“Well, I have a question for you then. Is there any chance she mentioned to you who is on the panel of judges for the Scholarship Award tonight? I really need to know.”

Aly laughed, looking around like police would swarm and arrest her for answering my question. “It’s hilarious that you are asking me this,” she said. “Just hilarious. I can’t believe you don’t know who the judges are. I really can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What is so hilarious about me asking you a question? I have no idea who the judges are. Why would I know? I’m not even nominated as a candidate.”

“Mom has been keeping a pretty tight lid on who the judges of the award’s ceremony will be because, well, since I’m a contestant, it’s essentially a conflict of interest for her. It wouldn’t be fair for me to know.”

“I gathered that it might have been a conflict for her to be a judge for a scholarship her own daughter was nominated for,” I said.

“But she slipped up last night when she was complaining about how the judges were acting like children.”

“Really?” I asked. “Who in particular is being a baby?”

Aly looked around for the invisible police again and then leaned in toward me.

“There will be three judges tonight,” she said. “Not my mom, because, like you said, I’m a candidate and she would obviously be biased.”

“Obviously,” I said, rushing her to get to the point.

“She’ll be overseeing the panel of judges instead.”

“Okay. And the judges?” She really knew how to drag out the inevitable and make me twist and turn.

“Mrs. Mahoney is obviously one of them.”

This was no real surprise, as it was her award to give away. Frankly, I would have been surprised if she wasn’t one of the three judges.

“But last night Mom kept complaining that Mr. Steele was holding everything up, slowing the whole process down.”

Mark Steele, the math teacher. I thought that was kind of weird. First he volunteered to chair the carnival, which couldn’t have had more problems over the past three days, and now I found out he had agreed to be a judge on the scholarship award panel? Since when had he been such an interested party? He wasn’t exactly involved in school, but all of a sudden he was involved outside of school? He was one of the few teachers who didn’t even hold after-school study sessions near finals. It was like he couldn’t wait to get out of school at the end of the day. So the fact that he was an official judge on a merit-based award panel was interesting. But it was so hard to believe that I asked her again.

“Mr. Steele?” I asked, confirming.

“Right? I thought that was weird too.”

“And the third judge?” I couldn’t wait to hear who the third judge was based on Mr. Steele’s presence. Was it Joshua Andrews, the baker? Chief McGinnis? Mrs. Gruen?

“I don’t know if I should tell you,” she said.

“And the third judge is...” I pushed her some more.

“Nancy, this is weird.”

“It will only be weird if you don’t tell me the third judge.”

“You mean you really don’t know?” Aly asked, almost giggling.

“Seriously. I have no idea. Why do you keep asking me that?” I asked.

“I just thought you would have heard.”

“Heard what?” I asked.

“Nancy, the third judge is your father... Carson Drew.”

THE CARSON DREW JUDGE CONFIRMATION

I texted Bess and George to meet me at the ring toss as soon as possible.

I couldn’t believe what I had just found out. Carson Drew, my father, was a judge? So many questions flooded my head. First and foremost, why hadn’t Dad told me that he’d been asked to be a judge? There was no conflict concerning me. He wasn’t even associated with the school in any direct way.

Besides the main point that he was the third judge, there were far too many weird and dangerous circumstances surrounding the River Heights Celebration that I had a bad feeling in my stomach about the whole thing. None of it felt right or legit to me.

But who asked Dad to get involved? Was it Mrs. Mahoney? Or Mark Steele? Or Mara Stanfield? Mrs. Mahoney seemed somewhat oblivious to how things like a carnival or scholarship were operated and run. I mean, that was why she had a lawyer to help her — my dad! Maybe that was how he got involved?

Mark Steele seemed to have himself well tied into a lot of these events, but I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for why he would have asked my dad. Then again, maybe it was Mara Stanfield wanting to better Aly’s chances somehow.

I couldn’t wait to speak with the girls about this whole thing and get their feedback. I wandered back over to the ring toss, still pondering the news about my father. A few teenagers tossed rings at bottles poorly, and Sunshine held a book in one hand, occasionally collecting missed rings from the ground with the other. The teens finished up and moved away, just as I arrived.

“Any luck with the case?” Sunshine asked.

“Huge news,” I said.

“That’s terrific. What did you find out?” Sunshine finished the last of her coffee, tossing the empty container into the trash. When she finished, she bent below the table and pulled out a new Club Coffee container, still hot, and took a long sip.

“Do you just have an endless supply of coffee back there?” I asked.

“I make sure I keep enough on hand for the day,” she said.

“I envy you,” I said.