Choosing Sides by Carolyn Keene Read Free Book Online Page B

Nancy muttered. She pulled into the street, then turned into an alley to turn around. Her headlights lit up a parked car about halfway down the narrow drive.
    â€œBetter back out, Nan,” Bess advised.
    â€œWait,” Nancy said, peering ahead. “Why is the passenger door on that car open?”
    â€œWho cares?” Brenda said. “It’s an abandoned car. Let’s just get out of here.”
    But Nancy was already out of the car. Kyle and Bess followed, with Brenda trailing behind. Nancy couldn’t see anyone in the rust-pitted sedan as she approached, but that didn’t mean that the driver wasn’t in or near the car. She looked in all directions, then peered through the open door.
    The next instant, Nancy gasped and jerked back. Stretched out on the front seat was Bobby Rouse. He was staring up at her with dead, unseeing eyes.
    Nancy felt a wave of nausea as she leaned in for a closer look. Bobby’s expression was frozen in a look of mild surprise, his eyes blank. Blood still trickled from a neat, round bullet hole above his ear.
    Behind her, Nancy heard Bess and Brenda muffle screams.
    â€œIs he dead?” Kyle asked, hugging Bess to his chest.
    Nancy reached in and gingerly felt Rouse’s pulse, then gave a terse nod.
    â€œI think I feel sick,” Brenda said in a tight voice. “I have to get out of here. I mean, I, uh, better go back and call in to the newspaper with this right away.” She took off down the alley.
    â€œCall the police, too!” Nancy called after her.
    Nancy’s gaze ran over the car’s interior, which was empty except for a takeout coffee container and a scrap of paper lying on the dashboard. Leaning over, she read aloud the words scrawled on the paper: “‘Nine o’clock, Greenwood.’ ”
    Kyle checked his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock,” he said. “Do you think that note’s about some kind of meeting?”
    â€œMaybe,” Nancy replied. “But I wonder what or who Greenwood is? And if Greenwood has anything to do with why he was killed.” She turned and headed toward the alley’s entrance. “Come on, let’s go make sure Brenda called the police.”
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    â€œWhat did Caroline say when you told her about Bobby Rouse?” Bess whispered to Nancy Tuesday morning.
    Nancy had just taken a seat next to her friend in the front row of folding chairs set up in the middle of Farragut Park, near downtown River Heights. Caroline, standing on a platform decorated with red, white, and blue bunting, was about to speak to a coalition of teens and senior citizens who had banded together to clean up the park.
    â€œShe was pretty upset,” Nancy answered. “Not only is she being framed, but someone’s actually been killed. And now Bobby Rouse can never tell us who arranged for him to pose in that photograph.”
    â€œWhich means that Caroline might never find out who’s trying to ruin her campaign,” Bess finished.
    Turning around in her chair, Nancy glanced at the crowd. Her gaze narrowed when she saw three college-aged guys standing in the back.
    â€œBess!” she said softly, pointing. “I saw those guys at Patrick Gleason’s headquarters yesterday. They were bad-mouthing Caroline.”
    Bess frowned. “What are they doing here?”
    â€œBeats me, but I’m going to keep an eye on them.” Nancy turned back to face front as Caroline was introduced to the crowd.
    â€œFriends,” Caroline began, “I remember just two years ago when this park was a wasteland where children never played and people were afraid to walk at night. But through your hard, unselfish work—”
    â€œMurderer!” a voice shouted from the back row, cutting Caroline short.
    Turning around, Nancy saw that the three guys from Gleason’s office were on their feet. Now they all shouted together,