False Notes (7 page)

If only I could find out more about Granger somehow—find out if he was really making designs on Rackham Industries, and what he’d done about it so far. Maybe that could provide a clue that would help us find Leslie.

Checking my watch, I wondered if it was too late to call Ned. His classes at the university didn’t start for a couple of weeks, but he was still working part-time at the
Bugle.
Deciding to risk waking him, I called his cell phone, so as not to disturb the rest of his family.

He picked up after a couple of rings. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s me,” I said.

I could almost hear his smile through the phone. “Hey,” he said, sounding very much awake. “How are you doing, me?”

“Fine,” I said quickly. “Listen, what do you have planned for tomorrow? Do you have to work?”

“Not until after lunch,” Ned said. “Why? What do you have in mind?”

I took a deep breath, realizing that I hadn’t spoken to him since I’d uncovered my new mystery. “Well, it’s sort of a long story,” I began. “But I just had an idea.…”

The next day Ned picked me up after breakfast.

“Did you set it up?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

He slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at me. “Yep,” he replied. “Called first thing this morning. I’m due at the office at nine thirty. We should be right on time.”

I smiled, relieved. “Great.”

So far my new plan was working out perfectly. I crossed my fingers, hoping that the rest would go as well. I’d asked Ned to set up an interview with the CEO of Rackham Industries, claiming that he was researching an article about local businesses. Since Mr. Nickerson owned the
Bugle
and Ned had been writing for the paper all summer, there was no reason why Ned writing the article wouldn’t be plausible.

“I just hope they aren’t too surprised when you show up with me,” Ned said. “I told them I was bringing an assistant. Chances are he’s going to recognize you, you know.”

I nodded, knowing that was a chance I had to take. One of the side effects of my amateur sleuthing is that I’ve become sort of well known around town. My picture has been in the paper more than anyone’s except maybe the mayor’s, and people I hardly know sometimes stop me on the street to ask if I’m working on any interesting mysteries at the moment.

“We’ll figure something out,” I told Ned as he pulled away from the curb. “I really want to be there when you talk to him. If something fishy is going on between Granger and Rackham Industries, he might let something slip.”

I checked my watch, making a mental note to
keep track of the time. I was supposed to check in for my charity duties at noon. That didn’t give me much time.

“So what are you going to do with this info if you get it?” Ned asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I guess it depends on what we find out. If it’s juicy enough, it might be time to hand over the case to the police and let them take care of the rest.”

I still wasn’t sure that was a safe option as long as Leslie was still missing. The more I thought about the case, the more serious it seemed. Deadly serious.

“Maybe I’ll talk to Dad first,” I said. “My gut tells me he already knows about the case—and he probably knows whether there’s a ransom note and what it says and everything. I’m sure he can help me figure out what to do.”

Ned nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it yet, anyway,” he said. “You don’t want to count your clues until they’re hatched. Or found. Or something.”

I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but somehow his words made me more anxious than ever.

A few minutes later we entered the Rackham Industries headquarters—a large glass office building in the heart of downtown River Heights. The security
guard at the front desk directed us to the CEO’s suite on the top floor. “Just take the elevator all the way up,” the guard said. “There’ll be someone at reception up there to buzz you in.”

When we stepped out of the elevator, though, there was no one in sight behind the clear glass doors at the end of the elevator bank. Ned tried one of the handles, but the door was locked.

I pointed to a little device on the wall beside the doors. “Looks like you need a card key to get into this floor,” I said. “Or someone at the desk has to buzz you in, like the guard said.”

“Weird.” Ned glanced at his watch. “We’re right on schedule. They know we’re coming. So where is everybody?”

I looked around. Through the glass doors, it was easy to see that there was no one seated behind the large, crescent-shaped reception desk. Beyond the desk there was a small waiting area, and behind that, a large door with a brass nameplate reading J
ACK
H
ALLORAN
, C
HIEF
E
XECUTIVE
O
FFICER
, R
ACKHAM
I
NDUSTRIES.

“Maybe we should pound on the glass until Halloran hears us and comes to let us in himself,” Ned joked.

I smiled. “Too bad Bess isn’t here—she could just
pick the lock,” I said, remembering her performance the night before.

“Probably not,” Ned corrected. “These sorts of security systems are all electronic nowadays. We need George for this kind of thing.”

Just then, an attractive, middle-aged woman came into view on the other side of the doors. She spotted us immediately, let out a gasp, and hurried to push open the glass doors.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, sounding a little flustered. “I had no idea.… You must be Mr. Halloran’s nine thirty appointment. I hope you weren’t waiting long?”

“It’s okay,” Ned replied politely. “No big deal.”

The secretary shook her head. “Well, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I just stepped away from the desk for a moment.” She glanced at the desk, seeming perturbed. “Irresponsible brat of an intern,” she muttered under her breath, so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it.

Then she turned back to us with a brilliant, professional smile. She invited us to take a seat in the waiting area while she let the CEO know that we were there.

A moment later she ushered us into the CEO’s office. Mr. Halloran was a tall, burly man with a
quick smile and a hearty laugh. He shook Ned’s hand and then mine, seeming unperturbed by my unexpected presence.

“You’re Carson Drew’s girl, aren’t you?” he asked. When I nodded, he grinned. “Good man, that Carson. Plays a mean game of golf, too.”

“Yes, he loves the game,” I said politely. “I hope you don’t mind my tagging along. I’m thinking of taking some journalism classes, and Ned offered to show me the ropes a little.”

“No problem.” Mr. Halloran sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “Ask away, you two.”

So much for my hopes of being incognito, I thought while Ned pulled out his mini–tape recorder and a notebook. I only hoped that my reputation as a detective wouldn’t make Halloran too cautious about what he said.

The interview began. Mr. Halloran answered all of Ned’s questions easily, without a hint of hesitation or concern. He seemed a little surprised when I blurted out a few questions of my own, but answered those as well. I asked him about Granger and his possible plans for Rackham Industries. Halloran merely shrugged off all such issues as rumors.

Finally, as Ned started thanking Halloran for his
time, I blurted out one last question in desperation. “Mr. Halloran,” I said, “do you know Leslie Simmons?”

The CEO looked surprised by the sudden change of topic, but he nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “I’ve known her parents for years, and I’ve heard young Leslie play the piano many times. I’m a big fan of classical music, and of talented new musicians—especially local ones. Did you know that Rackham Industries is sponsoring that young musician’s scholarship to the conservatory?”

As a matter of fact, I hadn’t known that. It was an interesting twist, but did it mean anything? Ned and I listened politely as Halloran rambled on about his music collection for a minute or two, then wrapped up the interview. I was ready to admit that it seemed to be a big dead end. I was willing to bet that Halloran had no inkling of any plot having to do with Granger or the Simmonses. But was that because it didn’t exist, or was Granger just even more clever than I thought?

I was musing over that thought as Ned and I stepped through Halloran’s office door into the reception area. The sound of the secretary’s irritated voice met us. She seemed to be scolding someone.

Glancing at the desk, I saw a pretty, dark-haired
girl about my age sitting in one of the chairs. She had a pout on her face and was rolling her eyes as the secretary continued to chide her.

“Deirdre Shannon!” I blurted out in shock.

S
ure enough, the girl
behind the desk was Deirdre Shannon, the richest, snobbiest girl in town. Just our luck.

“What are you doing here?” she and I said to each other at the same time.

She scowled at me. Then she noticed Ned, and her expression played through an interesting range of emotions—from surprise to delight to embarrassment.

I hid a smile. Deirdre had always taken great pride in her family’s wealth, never hesitating to show off her expensive car or the latest fashions. It had to be mortifying for her to be caught working like a regular person—especially by someone she couldn’t stand, which would be me. Deirdre and I had known each other for years and years, but even back in
kindergarten we’d mixed about as well as oil and water.

As usual Deirdre hid whatever vulnerability she might be feeling by going on the offensive. “What are you snooping around here for?” she demanded, glaring at me.

“Deirdre!” The secretary sounded shocked. “Miss Drew and Mr. Nickerson had an appointment with Mr. Halloran. There’s no need to be rude to them.”

Deirdre tossed her dark hair behind her shoulder. “You don’t know nosy Nancy. She’s always up to something—like spying on me, for instance.” She turned and smiled coquettishly at my boyfriend. “Of course, it’s always cool to see you, Ned, no matter what the reason.”

Ned shot me an amused glance. He knows that Deirdre’s huge, ongoing crush on him is a constant source of entertainment for me and my friends.

“Thanks, Deirdre,” he said pleasantly. “So what
are
you doing here, anyway?”

Deirdre shrugged, and annoyance—or maybe embarrassment—creased her brow once again. “Oh, my parents are friends with Halloran from the country club,” she said. “For some reason, they thought it would be a good idea for me to try an internship here this summer. It’s a totally lame idea, you know? I tried to talk them out of it, but…”

She looked so uncomfortable and humiliated that I almost felt sorry for her. For Deirdre, being caught working is probably like anybody else being caught stealing candy from babies. She’d probably never live this down.

“So, Deirdre,” I blurted out, my sympathy overcoming my usual distaste for her. “As long as you’re here, maybe you can help me out with something. My dad’s birthday is this week, and I’m having trouble finding a gift for him. Your father must be almost as hard to shop for as mine—do you have any ideas?”

Deirdre looked startled. “I don’t know,” she said. “What about a new pair of skis? That’s what I got my dad last year.”

“Hmm! Good idea,” I said, even though I knew my father wasn’t particularly interested in skiing. “I’ll think about that. Thanks. Come on, Ned—we’d better get going.”

A moment later, as the elevator doors slid shut in front of us, Ned glanced at me. “Okay, what was all that about?”

“What?” I asked innocently.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. “That,” he said succinctly. “Asking Deirdre for advice back there.”

“Oh.” I grinned and shrugged. “Well, you have to admit, she
does
know a lot about shopping.”

••••

As Ned drove me to my volunteer project, we talked over what we knew about the case so far. It still wasn’t much.

“I’m not sure what to do next,” I admitted as Ned stopped at a red light. “No matter what I try, I’m not finding anything I can use. I’m still sure my theory is right, but how am I supposed to prove it?”

Ned shrugged. “Good question. Too bad Halloran was a dead end. If you’d come up with any evidence that Granger was angling to take over Rackham Industries and using the mayor’s office to do it, even Chief McGinnis would have to listen to you.”

“I know.” I frowned, thinking hard. “But how else can I get that kind of evidence? Maybe I should try to talk to Granger himself.”

Ned shot me a quick glance before returning his attention to the road. “That doesn’t seem like such a great idea,” he said. “If Granger really is the kidnapper, you don’t want to let him know you’re on to him—or
you
might disappear too.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “But he wouldn’t have to know,” I said. “I would just need to be subtle.…” Suddenly I sat up straight. “I know. Deirdre!”

“Huh?”

“Deirdre’s family belongs to the country club,” I
reminded Ned. “So does Granger. And I’m pretty sure the Simmonses do too. If I could finagle an invitation out of Deirdre…”