False Notes by Carolyn Keene

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 aquick 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 histime, 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-hairedgirl 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.

Advances and Retreats
     
    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