Authors: Carolyn Keene

Moving Target (15 page)

Nancy groaned.

“What's the story on Jennifer?”

Nancy shrugged. “I talked to Dad, and he thinks she'll get a suspended sentence. She'll probably have to do community service for a specified length of time.”

Nancy pulled the truck up in front of the big house and took the keys in to Mr. Kipling, while George went to the cabin to get her things.

“Where's Kendra?” George asked CJ as she safety-checked her bike.

“She called her father to come and get her,” he said. “She apologized to me about doctoring the water bottle before she left. She was pretty upset and embarrassed for listening to Kirby.”

“She should be,” George said indignantly. Then her voice softened. “Maybe she's learned something.”

“Let's get moving!” Erik yelled.

CJ put his arm around George as they walked
their bikes to where the others were waiting. “How about dinner tonight?” he asked.

“You're on!” George said.

â¢Â â¢Â â¢

The sun was going down on a perfect autumn day when the cyclists rolled into Emerson. They locked their bikes and carried their gear into Packard Hall.

“Good news,” Erik announced as he and George studied the time sheets.

Nancy leaned over and whispered to Ned. “If it's good for him, it's bad for George.”

“I win!” Erik continued, turning to George. “By seven minutes and thirty-six seconds.”

George flashed him a dirty look. “I do a whole lot better when nobody's trying to kill me.”

Nancy grabbed her arm. “Come on, George. Ned and CJ are taking us out to dinner.”

“At Ed's Diner?” George asked.

“Anywhere but,” Nancy said with a grin. She hooked her arm into Ned's. “This is going to be a long, leisurely meal so Mr. Nickerson and I will have time to plan our
next
restful, uneventful three-day getaway!”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.