Carolyn Keene. Two Points to Murder

Her lecture was interrupted by a cry of rage from the back of the bus. Twisting around, Nancy tried to see what was happening.

It was Howie. The center was squatting in the aisle, emptying his gym bag onto the floor. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it!” he said over and over.

“What happened?” Ned shouted to him.

“Some bozo stole my lucky socks outta my bag!”

An angry murmur swept through the bus. The practical joker had struck again! Was the Wildcats’ luck ever going to change?

Just then, George touched her arm. “Nancy, look . . . that Camaro! Isn’t that like the one you saw last night?”

Nancy turned to the left and looked out her window. A Camaro was cruising next to the bus in the fastest lane of the four-lane highway. It was black. It had smoked windows. Its hubcaps were flashing, exactly like—

In a flash, she realized that it wasn’t like the killer Camaro—it was the killer Camaro! What was it doing here?

As she watched, horrified, the car moved into position alongside the bus’s front wheel. Then its window powered down. A gun barrel appeared. There was a burst of flame, followed by a loud pop and a deafening hiss.

The front of the bus began to shudder wildly. The tire was out! The driver gave a panicky cry and stomped on the brake. In no time the bus skidded to the right, swinging across two entire lanes of the highway and narrowly missing the other traffic.

A loud screech came next. Screams and shouts filled the air as the bus started to tip over!

Chapter Eight

They were done for, Nancy was certain of it! She braced for the impact, gripping her armrests tightly.

At the last second, however, the driver swung the wheel in the direction of the skid. The bus teetered crazily but slid to a halt without overturning.

Pandemonium broke loose. Amid the commotion, Nancy heard Ned shout, “Stay calm! Stay in your seats! Is everyone okay?”

A quick survey showed that no one was injured. Nerves were frayed, though, and it took several minutes for everyone to calm down enough to stop yelling.

Nancy checked the driver. He was unhurt but badly shaken.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have hit the brakes.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything turned out all right,” she told him.

“Everything except the tire. What a time to have a blowout!”

Didn’t he know that the tire had been shot out? Obviously not. Nancy wondered whether to tell him, but decided against it. What good would it do? The Camaro was gone, and spreading the story would only make the players more upset than they were already.

The driver used an emergency roadside phone to call for another bus. It arrived an hour later, and the team transferred into it. When they reached the Haviland gym it was just minutes before the game was due to start.

“Those guys are really shaken up,” Bess said as the girls took their seats in the bleachers. She had been sitting in the back of the bus with cute Craig Watson and looked pretty shaken herself. “Do you think they’ll win?”

“Let’s hope so,” Nancy said.

George added, “If they don’t, it’s goodbye playoffs!”

At first, the game looked like a rout. Emerson ran fast and hard, and quickly built a twenty-five point lead. The trouble came in the second half. With just ten minutes to go, the Wildcats began to slip. Scoring opportunities went unnoticed. Foul shots missed. In no time, their lead faded to just twelve points.

Was it the shock of the near-disaster finally catching up with them? Nancy wondered. Probably. She cheered loudly, but her mind wasn’t really on the game. Instead, she was brooding about the black Camaro. First it had turned up at the scene of an assault, and then it had been used to shoot out the bus’s tire!

In her mind, that could mean only one thing: The beatings and the practical jokes against the team were connected. But how? And why? She had no idea.

When the final buzzer sounded, Emerson had won the game by nine points.

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