False Notes (9 page)

I finally managed to escape from the sale at around four thirty. Earlier I had called Bess and George and asked them to meet me at Food for Thought, a sandwich shop near the university. I’d called Ned too, but he wasn’t home.

After a quick walk across campus, I hurried into the cramped but cheerful shop, which always smelled of sour pickles and frying bacon. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out what to do next. There wasn’t much time left; the filing deadline was just a
little over forty-eight hours away. If I didn’t find Leslie soon, Granger was going to get away with his plan. And I
definitely
didn’t want that to happen.

Bess and George were sitting at one of the round, marble-topped tables near the counter. They looked up and waved when they saw me come in.

“Hi,” I greeted them. “Glad you’re here.”

George checked her watch. “We’ve been here for ten minutes,” she said grumpily, “and we’re starving. If you hadn’t shown up soon, I was going to order without you.”

I smiled. “Okay, let’s eat,” I said. “But get your sandwiches to go, okay? We’re short on time, and I want to get going on this investigation.”

“Get going?” Bess said. “Get going where? What do you have in mind, Nancy?”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I have a couple of ideas, but I’ve hardly had a second all day to think about them.”

“Go ahead and think,” George said, her gaze wandering to the large menu board above the counter. “Meanwhile, I’ll think about ordering a liverwurst and salami with extra cheese.”

“Liverwurst?” Bess protested. “Ick! Besides, I thought you said you were in the mood for a burger?”

“Oh, yeah!” George’s eyes lit up. She glanced from one side of the menu board to the other, looking
conflicted. “They both sound great. Then again, so does the double bratwurst special.”

Bess licked her lips. “Ooh, that does sound good. But I’m trying to stay away from the heavy stuff.” She patted her belly. “I think I’ll have the turkey on rye.…”

I tapped my foot impatiently as the cousins continued to debate the menu. I could almost hear the seconds ticking away on the big chrome clock over the shop’s door. Was Leslie counting the seconds too, wherever she was? Were her parents counting the seconds until their daughter returned?

As I’d told my friends, I’d been too busy at the tag sale to think much about the case. But now that I had a moment, I realized that I really had no idea how to proceed. I was sure I had the answers in this case—but how could I prove them? If I went to Chief McGinnis and told him what I believed, he would think I was crazy.

I’d have to figure out a way to tie Granger to Leslie’s disappearance. I considered trying the fake-interview trick again, but quickly shrugged off that idea. Granger was used to tough business negotiations; a few pointed questions weren’t likely to force a confession out of a man like him. Besides, setting up such an interview would probably take too long, especially since I couldn’t reach Ned. I chewed my
lower lip, trying to come up with other options.

Finally Bess and George made up their minds. We placed our sandwich orders with the short, grizzled old man behind the counter.

“All right, girls,” he said in a slow, lightly accented voice. “Have a seat over there if you like. I’ll give you a holler when they’re ready.”

I felt like shouting, “Hurry! Hurry!” as the little man shuffled slowly over to the wooden bin full of rolls behind the counter. His unhurried, deliberate movements seemed to taunt me, to remind me that time was passing and I wasn’t making any progress on the mystery. Deciding it was probably better not to drive myself crazy by watching him, I turned and followed my friends back to their table.

“Okay, Nancy,” George said as she flopped into a chair. “I can tell you’re
really
distracted—otherwise, why would you order a boring sandwich like plain turkey on white? Come on, girl. Condiments were invented for a reason!”

“Sorry, but I don’t have time to figure out exciting sandwich combinations right now,” I said, carefully keeping my voice low so that the other customers in the shop wouldn’t overhear. “I’m too busy thinking about how to prove that Morris Granger kidnapped Leslie.”

“You know, I hate to say it, but the more I think about your theory, the more far-fetched it seems,” Bess told me, looking troubled. “I mean, I’m not crazy about some outsider coming in and wanting to be mayor of River Heights. Especially someone who might have his eye on Rackham Industries. But I’ve seen Mr. Granger on TV and stuff, and he really doesn’t seem like the criminal type.”

“And we didn’t find any dirt on him online, remember?” George added. “Why would a guy like him stoop to kidnapping all of a sudden?”

I frowned. “I don’t know,” I said. “That’s why they call it a mystery.” I wasn’t thrilled about their attitudes. If we were going to help Leslie, we had to act fast, not waste time arguing.

“Why don’t you just wait until tomorrow morning and see if she turns up for that audition?” George suggested. “That way, you’ll know if there really
is
a mystery.”

I shook my head. “That just means wasting another half a day, which Mrs. Simmons could use to fill out that paperwork,” I said. “Besides, if Leslie misses her audition, people are
really
going to notice. They were already gossiping about her missing the recital, remember? What if someone gets so worried that they call the police?”

George shrugged. “So what if they do?” she said, playing with a crumpled straw wrapper someone had left on the tabletop. “At the rate the River Heights Police Department moves, they’ll get around to investigating sometime next Tuesday.”

“Joke about it if you want,” I said grimly. “But Leslie could be in deadly danger—and I think we need to do whatever we can to help her.”

My friends exchanged a glance. “All right, Nancy,” Bess said. “We’ll help if we can. But what do you think we should do?”

I took a deep breath. “I think we should tail Granger.”

“Oh, yeah,” George said sarcastically. “Because that worked so well the last time.”

“No, listen,” I said. “I’m not talking about going to his house this time. We know where his office is. We can go there right now and wait for him to come out. Then we’ll follow him.”

“Why?” George asked bluntly.

I shrugged, not wanting to admit that I was feeling a little less than confident about my own plan. “The deadline for the paperwork is getting close,” I said. “Granger’s probably going to be keeping an eye on Leslie from now on, wherever she is. Maybe he’ll lead us there.”

Bess’s forehead crinkled slightly. “But I thought you said he wouldn’t want to have any contact with Leslie—you know, so she couldn’t identify him after he lets her go. So what good will it do to follow him?”

“Look,” I said, feeling frustrated. Normally I love it when my friends ask intelligent questions about my cases—they help me figure things out. But at the moment, I didn’t seem to have any good answers for them. Or for myself. “We need to do
something.
And since Granger is our only suspect, he’s also our only lead. Now, are you with me, or not?”

Bess and George glanced at each other. They both shrugged.

“I guess so,” George answered for both of them. “I mean, we’re not about to let you run off after a possible kidnapper all by yourself.”

It wasn’t exactly the rousing vote of support I might have hoped for, but it would have to do. “Good,” I said.

At that moment the man behind the counter called out our names. Our sandwiches were finally ready. We each grabbed a beverage from the cooler near the counter. After paying for our food, we headed outside.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll take my car. That way you guys can eat while I drive.”

Bess looked doubtful, but George was already heading for the passenger-side door. “Sounds good to me,” she said, reaching into her bag to pull out her sandwich.

We didn’t talk much on the short ride to the building where Granger’s office was located. My friends were busy eating, and I was busy thinking.

Were they right? I clutched the wheel tightly as I waited for a red light to change. Was this a waste of time?

“Yo!” George mumbled through a mouthful of food. “Earth to Nancy. It’s not going to get any greener.”

With a start, I realized that the traffic light had changed. I stepped on the gas quickly, causing my car to lurch forward and almost cut off the engine. Bess winced, but kept quiet. I managed to keep us moving, and a moment later I was pulling to the curb directly across from the exit to a parking garage beneath a tall office building.

“So now what?” Bess asked, taking a sip of her jumbo-size soda.

“Now we wait.” I cut the engine and leaned back in my seat. “When Granger comes out, we’ll follow him.”

George looked skeptical. “What if he already left?” she asked. “It’s after five o’clock.”

“Granger didn’t get as rich and successful as he is by cutting out at five every day,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Don’t worry; he’s still there.”

I reached for my sandwich, ignoring the dubious glances my friends were exchanging.

We sat there in my car and waited. And waited. And then we waited some more.

An hour passed, and then two. All of our sandwiches were long gone. My friends were bored and grumpy, and I was starting to wonder if we were wasting our time. Car after car had emerged from the garage, but Granger hadn’t been in any of them.

Finally, just as I checked my watch for the millionth time and saw that it was a little after seven thirty, I caught a flash of movement in the dim interior of the parking garage. A moment later a late-model blue sedan pulled up to the ticket window, and its driver leaned out to hand a pass to the attendant.

I gasped, sitting bolt upright. “That’s him!” I said, recognizing the driver immediately. “It’s Morris Granger!”

“It’s about time,” George muttered sourly.

The three of us crouched down in our seats, hiding our faces as the blue sedan pulled out. Granger didn’t
even glance our way as he drove off down the nearly deserted street.

I threw my car into gear so fast that the engine stalled. “Rats!” I muttered, turning the key to try again.

“Nice driving,” Bess commented with a giggle.

Ignoring her, I pulled out and followed Granger’s car. There wasn’t much traffic for the first couple of blocks and I hung back as far as I dared, not wanting him to notice that he was being tailed. Soon he turned onto busy State Avenue, and I was able to stay a car or two behind him without fear of being sighted.

“What’s the point in this, anyway?” George complained. “He’s probably just going to drive home, eat dinner, and go to bed. Or something equally thrilling.”

I clutched the wheel tighter, knowing that she was probably right. Still, I kept my gaze trained on the taillights of the blue sedan. If he was heading home, he would be making a left soon onto Jackson Street.

And if he did, I was thinking maybe I should just admit that my friends were right and take them home. Driving out to Granger’s place again wasn’t going to help Leslie any.

My left pinkie finger hovered just over my turn signal, ready to hit it for the turn onto Jackson—but
to my surprise, Granger drove right through the intersection without pausing.

“Hey,” Bess said. “Shouldn’t he have turned back there?”

My heart leaped with sudden hope. Maybe we hadn’t wasted the last two and a half hours after all.…

“Yep,” I said. “
If
he was going home. Which he’s obviously not.”

George still didn’t seem convinced. “All right, so he’s going out to eat before he heads home. Big deal.”

But instead of turning right to head over to River Street with its bustling shops and lively restaurants, he turned left onto Union Street. I followed.

“Ugh,” Bess complained. “Why did he go this way? Everyone knows it’s a mess because of the hospital construction work.”

Sure enough, the street narrowed quickly into one lane. The construction workers had gone home for the day, but their orange road cones and signs remained.

I slowed the car to a crawl. There was no other traffic in sight, and I didn’t want Granger to spot my car and get suspicious. He pulled past the cones and stopped at the curb, then climbed out without glancing around.

“Check it out,” I whispered, my heart pounding with excitement. “He’s going into the hospital construction site!”

The future site of the Granger Children’s Hospital was little more than a maze of support beams with a few temporary plywood walls here and there. Piles of concrete, lumber, and stone sat everywhere, and pale gray plaster dust coated everything, giving the area the look of a moon colony beneath the dim gleam of the setting sun. As we watched, Granger walked right into the heart of the construction site, carefully stepping around the worst of the debris in his business suit and expensive leather shoes.

“What in the world is he doing here at this hour?” George asked in confusion.

I parked haphazardly in the nearest available spot at the curb, almost flattening a road cone in the process. “Don’t you get it?” I whispered. “This must be where he’s keeping Leslie! It’s the perfect place to hide someone!”