Danger in numbers

A BAD CALL

“A threat?” I repeated in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“What threat?” George hissed, looking concerned.

“Shh,” I hushed her, switching the phone to my other hand and ignoring the resulting gasp from Bess as I took both hands off the steering wheel for a second. “What’s going on, Ned? Does this have something to do with BetterLife?”

“BetterLife? No, of course not,” Ned said. “Well, at least not really.”

“Huh?” I said.

Bess poked me in the shoulder. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

I flapped a hand to shush her. “Fill me in, please, Ned. Who’s making these threats, and why?”

“Someone called Professor al-Fulani’s office at the university because they’d just heard he’ll be speaking at Peace Week.”

I nodded, then blinked as I remembered how Ibrahim had sworn us to secrecy just now. “Wait, I thought that wasn’t going to be announced until Monday,” I said.

“So did the professor. But someone found out and leaked it a couple of days early. It was posted on the BetterLife bulletin board less than an hour ago.” Ned sighed. “And apparently some people aren’t happy about the news. It’s causing quite an uproar on campus; protesters are already out in force in front of the professor’s office, both pro and con.”

I let out a low whistle and asked, “Has the family called the police?”

“Of course,” Ned replied. “They seem to think it was probably just a crank call, but they’re looking into it just in case. Meanwhile the professor and his wife are understandably anxious to make sure their kids are both home and safe — Arij is already here, but they’re worried about Ibrahim, especially since he forgot his cell phone today and they can’t reach him. Anyway, I guess the whole family has dealt with some problems like this before.”

“I know,” I said, flashing back again to the conversation in the coffee shop. “Ibrahim was just telling us about that.”

“Hmm.” Ned cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’d better hang up and go pick him up at the coffee shop.”

“Don’t bother. I can go back and get him,” I offered, already checking my rearview to see if it was safe to make a U-turn.

“No, that’s okay,” Ned said quickly. “Now that I know where he is, I’ll just drive over there myself and bring him back here.”

“But I’m only, like, three minutes from the coffee shop,” I protested. “It’ll be much quicker if I —”

“Thanks, but I’m on it. Oh, and listen — is it okay if I take a rain check on dinner tonight? I have a feeling this situation is going to turn into an all-day thing.”

“Sure,” I said. “Totally understood. We’ll reschedule once things settle down.”

“Cool. Later, Nancy.”

He hung up before I could say anything else. I hit the End button and tossed my phone back to George, surprised that Ned had turned down my offer to fetch Ibrahim. The Nickersons’ house was at least a ten-minute drive from the coffee shop at this time of day; by the time Ned got there, I could’ve already had Ibrahim halfway home.

“Wow,” George said. “Guess Ibrahim wasn’t kidding about people having it in for his dad.”

Bess nodded. “And more protests, too,” she said. “Weird.”

“I know. It’s like the craziness of BetterLife is spilling out into the real world, just like you guys were saying.”

“So you’re rescheduling yet again?” Bess asked.

I should have known she’d catch that. Bess is a hopeless romantic.

“Uh-huh.” I shrugged and smiled weakly. “Hey, but at least this time it’s not my fault, right?” I still felt guilty about canceling on Ned so often lately. “Talk about bad timing, though — it’s starting to feel like we haven’t spent any quality alone time together in eons.”

“Maybe you should send VirtualNancy out to snuggle with Ned’s avatar, since he’s picketing right outside your — I mean her — house,” George joked.

“Right.” Bess rolled her eyes. “A virtual date. How very romantic.”

George grinned. “Hey, it’s better than nothing, right?”

I wasn’t too sure about that. But I didn’t have time to ponder it, since we were already turning onto Shannon’s block. As I pulled the car to the curb in front of her house, I saw two women standing on the front porch. One of them was Shannon’s mother, a slender, pretty blond who looked just as Shannon herself probably would in twenty or thirty years. The second woman was heavyset, with dark hair and a heavily lined face. She appeared to be a few years older than Mrs. Fitzgerald, and was wearing a shapeless, old-fashioned dress that even my style-challenged self didn’t need Bess to tell me was hopelessly frumpy.

My friends and I headed up the front walk. The women spotted us, and I thought I saw Mrs. Fitzgerald frown slightly and murmur something to her companion.

“Er, hello again, Nancy,” she said when we got closer. “I didn’t expect to see you again today.”

I was surprised by her slightly hostile tone. It had been only a matter of hours since I’d seen her last, and at the time she’d been tired and upset but also grateful to me for getting to the bottom of the situation with her daughter.

Even though Shannon was grounded from BetterLife, could Mrs. Fitzgerald have already heard about the problem? “Um,” I said awkwardly, “you didn’t happen to hear about my avatar’s latest escapades on BetterLife, did you? Because you see, it actually wasn’t me at all. That’s why I’m here, in fact….” I went on to explain the whole story with Ibrahim and my hijacked avatar.

Even before I finished, I could see Mrs. Fitzgerald’s expression relax, though the other woman continued to stare at me with open curiosity. “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said when I’d finished. “What a relief. I should have known you wouldn’t do that, Nancy. But honestly, these days it’s getting hard to know just what anyone will do, especially if they think they can hide behind their keyboard….”

I smiled sympathetically, guessing that she was thinking about her own daughter’s actions and those of her friends. “I hear you,” I said. “It’s a whole new world out there, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed. Oh! But where are my manners?” the woman said. “Nancy Drew, this is my sister-in-law, Agnes Fitzgerald. She stopped by to visit Shannon as soon as she heard what happened.” She smiled sheepishly. “I know Shannon’s supposed to be grounded from all visitors, but I figured family doesn’t count. Besides, Agnes and Shannon have always been close, and we hope she’ll be a good influence on her at this time.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald,” I said politely, holding out my hand. Aunt Agnes just stared at it for a moment as if not certain what she was supposed to do with it.

“Oh,” she said after a moment, finally taking my hand and giving it a quick, listless shake. “Uh, hello.”

I introduced Bess and George as well, then turned back to Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Anyway, I know you just said no visitors. But I was actually hoping I could talk to Shannon. It would only take a few minutes.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald smiled. “Of course, Nancy. We can certainly make an exception for you after all you’ve done.”

“Excuse me,” Aunt Agnes said abruptly. “I have to go. Don’t want to be late for work.”

“All right.” Mrs. Fitzgerald patted the older woman on the arm. “Thanks for stopping by. I’m sure Shannon appreciated the friendly face.”

That wasn’t quite how I would have described dour Agnes Fitzgerald myself. Still, I supposed “friendly” was in the eye of the beholder.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald,” Bess said politely.

Aunt Agnes nodded, then hurried down the steps, making her way toward a shabby-looking minivan parked at the curb right in front of my Prius. Shannon’s mother waved until the other woman climbed in and drove off in a cloud of exhaust. Then she turned to lead us into the house.

“Agnes works in the cafeteria over at the university,” she said conversationally as she opened the door. “I wouldn’t enjoy working so many weekends myself, but it seems to suit her.” She glanced up the stairs leading to the second floor. “Go on upstairs to Shannon’s room — you know where it is.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the steps two at a time with my friends at my heels.

Shannon seemed less than thrilled to see me again. “Oh,” she said when she opened her bedroom door and peered out. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” I replied lightly. “You remember Bess, right? And this is our friend George. May we come in?”

Shannon stared at George. “Your name is George?” she demanded. “What’s that about?”

“What’s it to you?” George countered.

I cleared my throat. “Er, listen, Shannon,” I said. “We won’t stay long. But I need to talk to you about what’s been going on this morning on BetterLife.”

Shannon blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the way someone hacked my character and made her do stuff I’d never do — like attack a friend and tell him to go back to Iran.” I watched Shannon carefully for any hint of recognition or guilt.

Instead, she looked genuinely surprised. “Really?” she said. “Whoa, that’s harsh.”

“I know. And since I know you’re probably not exactly pleased with me right now…”

“You mean you think I did it?” Shannon rolled her eyes. “Um, duh! Did you already forget that you got me banned from the computer for, like, ever?” She scowled and flopped down on the edge of her bed. “Even my aunt thinks it’s totally unfair, and she’s super-old and stuff.”

No wonder poor Aunt Agnes looked so grumpy just now, I thought, holding back a smile. She probably had to spend the whole morning listening to Shannon singing a full chorus of oh-poor-me.

“So you don’t know anything about this?” George demanded, narrowing her eyes at Shannon. “What about your little friends? Think they might’ve done it?”

“How should I know?” Shannon shot back, still sounding disgruntled. “I’m not allowed to see them. Or call them. Or even text them. I haven’t talked to anyone outside my stupid family for, like, a whole day now.”

Bess shrugged. “Well, we were just wondering,” she said. “See, our old friend Guitarlvr15 showed up on BetterLife this morning.”

“Really?” Shannon looked mildly interested. “Well, I can pretty much guarantee it’s not Rebecca this time. Her mom’s way strict — even worse than mine. She’s probably chained in the basement or something to keep her away from the computer.”

I’d met Rebecca’s parents, and they didn’t seem like the chaining-in-the-basement type. However, they did seem strict enough that it was unlikely that Rebecca could have wriggled out of her punishment, especially so soon.

“All right,” I said, heading for the door. “Thanks for talking to us, Shannon.”

“Whatever.” Shannon was already reaching for the magazine lying on her bed.

We went downstairs and said good-bye to Mrs. Fitzgerald. “I hope she wasn’t too cranky?” she asked with a wry smile.

I chuckled. “Only a little,” I said. “I’m sure it’s not easy being cut off from her friends like that at her age.”

“So she keeps telling me,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed with a grimace. “But it’s the only way they’ll learn. Fortunately all the involved parents are in full agreement on that. And no matter what Shannon or the others think, being off-line for a while won’t kill them!”

Soon my friends and I were outside heading toward my car. “So?” Bess said. “Do you believe her, Nancy?”

“You mean Shannon? Yeah, I think I do.” I shrugged. “Not that she’s proven herself terribly trustworthy or anything, but I doubt there’s any way she could have sneaked online with her family riding her like that. Not so soon.”

“True,” George agreed, kicking at a loose stone on the path. “Sounds like the other parents are the same way.”

“But what about the Guitarlvr15 thing?” Bess asked. “Pretty weird that he’d show up again so soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be checking that out,” I agreed. “In the meantime, though, it might be time to start thinking about new suspects.” I sighed as I realized what that meant. “I guess I should start by investigating some of the people protesting against me on BetterLife.”

“It’s strange, all these protests, isn’t it?” Bess mused. “The ones outside your virtual place, the ones against the creators of the game, and now the ones Ned was telling you about at the university…”

“You don’t think there’s any connection, do you?” George wrinkled her nose. “What do some jerks who don’t like Professor al-Fulani have to do with Nancy?”

Bess shrugged. “Well, it was his son that she supposedly harassed, right? Coincidence, or not?”

We’d reached the car by now, and George reached for the passenger-side handle. “Hang on,” I said, stepping closer. “I need to unlock — oops, never mind,” I corrected myself. “Looks like I forgot to lock it.”

“You, forget something like that?” Bess laughed. “Say it isn’t so, Nancy!”

I smiled weakly. While anyone who knows me would agree that my mind is a steel trap when it comes to solving mysteries, even I had to admit that other, less important details sometimes fell by the wayside when I was on a case. I’d been known to leave the house with mismatched sneakers — more than once, actually. Forgetting to lock my car was nothing.

“Come on,” I said, climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling on my seat belt. “Maybe we should swing by the university and check out those protests for ourselves — just in case.”

When everyone was inside, I punched the button on the dashboard to start the car. I jumped as the car emitted a loud, piercing BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Who forgot their seat belt?” I asked, automatically glancing over at George. But she was strapped in properly, and when I looked in the backseat, Bess was, too.

“What’s wrong with it?” Bess exclaimed, raising her voice to be heard over the continuous shrill beeping.

I shrugged, hitting the power button again to turn off the car, then once more to turn it back on. But the same thing happened. As soon as the car powered on, that insistent beeping started up again.

“Guess I’d better call the shop,” I said, hitting the button again to make the noise stop. “Toss me my phone, George. The garage number’s on auto-dial.”

“Okay. Where’d you put it?”

“What do you mean? I thought you had it,” I replied.

“I set it back on the dashboard before we got out to go into Shannon’s house,” George said. “Did you grab it after that?”

“No.” I patted my pockets to make sure. “If you don’t have it, and I don’t have it, and Bess doesn’t have it” — I shot a glance back at Bess, who shook her head — “then what happened to my phone?”

“Do you think someone saw the phone sitting there and stole it?” Bess exclaimed. “I mean, the doors were unlocked….” “Why would anyone bother?” George said. “Her phone’s not exactly top-of-the-line.”

“Gee, thanks.” I was already leaning down, peering at the floor to see if it might have fallen. “Check around before we panic, okay?”

George bent down. “Hang on — here it is,” she exclaimed, fishing down by her feet. “It was, like, wedged in under the seat. I didn’t even see it when I got in.”

“That’s weird.” Bess leaned forward between the seats. “Do you think you knocked it down when you got out of the car before?”

George shrugged. “It’s possible, I guess,” she said doubtfully. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything.”

I bit my lip, glancing from the phone in George’s hand to the car’s start button. “I hate to sound paranoid,” I began slowly, “but what if someone knocked it down while they were in here messing around with my car?”

“You mean someone might’ve tampered with the car’s computer system?” George’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that would certainly explain the beeping, wouldn’t it?”

“And what if it’s not just beeping?” Suddenly Bess sounded nervous. “This whole car is, like, controlled by a computer, right? Who knows what could happen if someone fiddled with it?”

Despite her girly looks and interests, Bess is actually a pretty handy mechanic, but she’s never quite trusted my high-tech hybrid. Still, she did have a point this time.

“Given what’s been happening lately, I guess we shouldn’t take any chances,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll call the garage and see if they can come tow us in and give it a look.”

I called the garage, and then we climbed out and sat on the curb to wait for the tow truck. “Okay, if this turns out to be connected to the case, I guess Shannon’s off the hook,” I said, stretching out my legs and glancing up and down the street. The Fitzgeralds’ neighborhood was quiet at the moment, with neither traffic nor pedestrians in sight, let alone any likely suspects. “Do you think someone could have followed us here from the coffee shop?”

“But why?” Bess asked dubiously. “The BetterLife thing is the only case you’ve been working on lately, right? Do you really think this could be connected to that?”

“Maybe. That UrNewReality message did sound like a threat.” I shrugged. “Then again, maybe it has something to do with Ibrahim, or his father. Some people obviously have it in for the professor. Maybe someone saw us with Ibrahim and decided it would be fun to make trouble for his friends, too.”

“Seems like a stretch,” George said bluntly. Then her eyes widened. “But hey, what about that big case your dad’s working on? Didn’t you say it was like a drug bust or something? What if you’re being targeted because of that?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” I agreed. “But Dad definitely would have mentioned it if he thought I might be in any danger.”

“ If he realized it,” George said darkly. “Some of those drug types are scary, Nance. You’d better watch your back if you think they could be involved.”

“Or maybe your wacky Jetsons car just shorted out one of its circuits, and this is all a big coincidence,” Bess put in. “I mean, I’m still worried about that UrNewReality thing, too. But let’s not fly off in a panic, okay?”

“Yeah.” My mind was still turning over what had just happened, trying to make sense of it. Coincidence? Maybe. But I had a hunch there was more to it than that.

Moments later Charlie Adams pulled up in the tow truck from Carr’s Garage. Charlie is a few years old than me and has been working for the garage since the day he turned sixteen. He’s bailed me out of car trouble on numerous occasions — so numerous, in fact, that he doesn’t even charge me for the tow half the time. My friends seem to think that’s because he has a crush on me, but I choose to ignore that possibility and just consider Charlie a good friend.

“Hi, Nancy,” he said, smiling at me and then lifting a hand to wave at Bess and George as he hopped down from the cab of the truck. “Got here as fast as I could. Want me to drop you guys off at home on my way back to the garage? They can call you once the guys take a look at your car.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” I said. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, can you drop us in front of Barbara’s Beans instead? Bess’s car is parked there.”

“Sure thing. Just let me get hooked up, and we’re on our way.”

“Okay, where to now?” Bess asked as she put her car in gear.

Charlie had just dropped us off. Barbara’s Beans was busier than ever, but a quick look inside had showed us that Ibrahim was long gone.

“I still wouldn’t mind heading to the university,” I said, leaning back in the front passenger seat.

“You mean to check out the protests?” George asked from the back. “Good idea.”

“That, too,” I said as Bess pulled out into traffic. “But I also want to see if we can track down Shannon’s aunt at the dining hall.”

“Aunt Agnes?” George wrinkled her nose. “Why? You want to ask her to be your new BFF or something? She wasn’t exactly Ms. Personality.”

“She was parked right in front of my car, remember?” I said. “I want to see if she noticed anyone hanging around when she left. You know, a mysterious-looking gardener or delivery man, maybe a stranger lurking in the neighbor’s landscaping…”

Bess nodded. “Good call,” she said. “We weren’t inside for all that long — maybe twenty minutes, tops. If someone did mess with your car, they must’ve worked fast. Maybe she did see something.”

It only took a few minutes to reach the tidy, attractive campus of River Heights University. Bess parked her car in a public lot, then we headed through the tall iron gates with their anvil insignia onto the college green.

“Whoa,” George said, staring across the neatly tended lawn toward a cluster of ivy-draped brick buildings on the far side. “Ned wasn’t kidding about the protests.”

I followed her gaze. There had to be at least sixty or seventy people marching around in front of one particular building. “Let’s get closer,” I said, already hurrying forward.

When we joined the curious crowd gathering around the picketers, I could see that at least seventy-five percent of the protesters were actually students and others holding hastily scribbled signs in support of Professor al-Fulani. That made sense — even though he’d only been there a week, I’d heard the visiting professor was already popular with students. Most of the people in this group were laughing, singing, and generally treating the whole thing as a lark.

“That’s college kids for ya,” George quipped. “What’s more fun than a good old- fashioned Saturday-afternoon protest? Well, except maybe playing Hacky Sack…”

Next my gaze turned to the opposing side. Those protesting against the professor, while fewer in number, seemed to be taking things much more seriously. Their signs were larger and more brightly painted, with angry messages including stuff like AMERICA: LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT! and MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!

“Looks like some people took offense at the professor’s comments about the United States,” George commented.

“Too bad they missed the point,” Bess said. “Maybe if they’d listened a little closer, they’d realize he thinks this country is great. In fact, he cares enough about it to want to help make it even better.”

I nodded, recognizing several local cranks and troublemakers. Most of them weren’t the type to appreciate such nuances. There was Millard Morton, who’d sued city hall at least a dozen times over various matters, from potholes in the street in front of his house to slow pizza delivery — my father had defended the city pro bono on most of those cases. Then we had LuAnn Carter, who loved to call up all the local radio stations to rant about having to press One for English at the local cash machines. I spotted a few more familiar faces, too, though there were also some students and strangers among the picketers. Meanwhile the crowd of curious onlookers seemed to be growing by the minute.

As my friends and I joined that crowd, I recognized another familiar face — Aisha Beck, a talented young reporter for the River Heights Bugle. Ned’s father was the publisher of the paper, and Ned himself worked there part-time in between his college classes. I’d met Aisha on several occasions and found her smart, tough, and fair.

“Hi, Aisha,” I said, hurrying over.

“Oh! Hey, Nancy. Good to see you.” The reporter smiled and greeted my friends as well.

I glanced over as the picketers started a chant. “You here covering all the excitement?” I asked Aisha.

“Actually, we found out that Professor al-Fulani is calling a press conference to address all this.” She waved a hand at the action. “Mr. N. sent me right over to get the scoop. Of course, I’m not sure what good it’s going to do reporting it in the paper — looks like the entire city’s already here!”

My friends and I chuckled. Bess made some response, but I barely heard it. I’d just spotted Shannon’s aunt standing at the edge of the crowd nearby, along with a short, skinny woman around her age wearing a hairnet. I guessed the second woman was a coworker at the dining hall, which was just a few doors down from the steps of the building where they were standing to get a better view of the proceedings.

“Excuse me, you guys,” I said hastily. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, I hurried off, winding my way through the still-growing crowd. This seemed like as good a time as any to talk to Aunt Agnes. My years of amateur sleuthing had taught me that witnesses are like seafood meals — best when they’re fresh. I wanted to catch Aunt Agnes when she was still likely to remember anything suspicious she might have seen in front of Shannon’s house, before the novelty and gossip of the protest and press conference drove it from her mind.

I’d almost reached her when a buzz went up from the crowd. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Professor al-Fulani had just emerged onto the front steps of the main university building along with a couple of uniformed security guards and several other people. To my surprise, his wife and children weren’t among them. I realized why when I turned back toward Aunt Agnes and spotted the professor’s family on the steps of the same building where she and her friend were standing. In fact, only a couple of people separated the al-Fulanis from the two women. If I hadn’t been so intent on Aunt Agnes, I might have spotted the al-Fulanis earlier. It looked as if they’d just stepped out of the building behind them, which held several university offices along with some classrooms.

The professor’s wife was standing straight and tall, only the slightly pinched expression on the face beneath her hijab giving away the fact that there was anything wrong. Ibrahim and Arij were standing on either side of their mother, both of them looking anxious. I waved, but none of them noticed — their gazes were trained on Professor al-Fulani as he fiddled with the microphone someone had just handed him.

“Welcome,” the professor said in his cultured English, the microphone carrying his voice easily across the green. “Although it is unfortunate to meet under these circumstances, I am still very glad for the chance to speak with all of you today….”

I turned and continued on as he spoke, finally reaching Aunt Agnes, who was watching the professor. “Hello there,” I said, touching her on the arm. “Remember me? Nancy Drew? We met a little while ago at your niece’s house.”

She turned to me and blinked. “Oh,” she said. “Uh, okay.”

Deciding to take that as a “Yes, lovely to see you again,” I continued. “Something kind of weird happened while I was there, and I noticed you were parked in front of me, so —”

“Look out!” Agnes shouted hoarsely, suddenly leaping past me.

I spun around just in time to see her grab Arij al-Fulani by the shoulders and give her a hard shove off the building’s steps!

Дата добавления: 2017-01-14