False Notes Read Free Page B

one of their names came up. Whatever was going on with the Simmons family, it had to be big.
    When Dad got his breath back, he dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. Then he met my gaze briefly before looking away.
    “Sorry, Hannah,” he said in a slightly raspy voice.“I just got distracted there for a moment. Nothing to do with your soup—it’s delicious, as always.”
    I could take a hint. It was clearly time to drop the whole topic of the Simmons family.
    “Yes, it’s great,” I added, smiling at Hannah and taking a quick sip of my own soup. “What kind of mushrooms do you put in it again?”
    After that the conversation at the dinner table proceeded more normally. But I was still thinking about the earlier incident as I helped Hannah clear the table. That little sixth sense of mine was tingling—not to mention my curiosity. Maybe it was none of my business, but I couldn’t help wondering if the Simmonses were in trouble, and if what I’d witnessed that afternoon had something to do with it.
    As soon as I could, I excused myself and hurried upstairs. I closed my bedroom door, picked up the phone on my bedside table, and dialed George’s number.
    “Okay, so what’s the big emergency?” George teased as she swung open her front door a few minutes later.
    Bess appeared in the doorway behind her. She looked curious. “Yeah, Nancy,” she added. “I was planning to give myself a pedicure tonight.”
    “Sorry to tear you away from such exciting plans,” I said, only half kidding. Bess takes grooming andbeauty treatments very seriously. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll tell you everything.”
    George led the way down the hall to the stairs. The Faynes’ house is a comfortable, rambling colonial where George lives with her parents, her older brother, Sebastian, when he’s home from college, and her younger brother, Scott. Soon the three of us were entering her messy, chaotic bedroom. It was a large room, but it seemed much smaller because of the masses of power cords crisscrossing the floor, and the computer equipment and other electrical gadgets stacked on every possible surface.
    Bess blinked and looked around at the mess. “Hey,” she said in surprise. “You cleaned up in here!”
    “Yeah, a little.” George flopped onto her unmade bed. “Okay, enough chitchat. What’s going on, Nancy?”
    I perched on the edge of George’s desk chair, which I had to share with a set of stereo speakers and a spare modem. “It’s about Heather Simmons,” I began.
    “That again?” George interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Nancy. A woman arguing with her husband does not a mystery make—not even when that woman happens to be running for mayor.”
    “I know, I know.” I held up my hand to stop her. “But listen to this.…”
    I quickly described my innocent comments at dinner, and Dad’s extreme reactions. As I did, my mind kept turning over what I was saying, poking and prodding at it to try to make sense of it. That’s one of the reasons I like it when my friends help me with cases. Talking to them about weird things and puzzling clues often helps me figure things out faster.
    Bess looked uncertain. “Okay,” she said when I was finished. “So that tells us… what? That they’re probably his clients. So? That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a mystery brewing.”
    Meanwhile George was licking her lips. “Do you think Hannah has any of that soup left over?” she asked. “I remember it well—she brought it to that potluck thing at the fire station. It was delicious!”
    I sighed. For such a thin girl, George had a practically bottomless stomach. It killed Bess to watch her cousin eat like a pig and never gain an ounce, while Bess herself remained pleasantly plump.
    “It may be nothing,” I told Bess. “But why would Dad freak out so much over an ordinary client? Why did he look more upset than ever when I mentioned Leslie?”
    “I can answer that one,” George said, apparently