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Informationen zum Autor Carolyn Keene Klappentext When the cash box is stolen from a carnival! all signs point to Ned as the thief. He couldn't possibly have done this--or could he? Nancy solves the mystery of the missing cash! but uncovers more trouble along the way. Leseprobe 1 MISSING CASH BOX Fancy Nancy,” Mrs. Gruen said, knocking on my bedroom door. “It’s time to get up, dear. If it was left up to you, you would just sleep until noon and miss the parade completely. Now get up.” I opened my eyes slowly but didn’t want to get up. The events of the previous day with the burn blog had completely exhausted me. Even though the burn blog mystery had been solved and Heather Harris busted for running the website, the threatening blue notes were still being written, and I had no idea who was behind them. Which was why I didn’t want to get out of bed, but Mrs. Gruen, our housekeeper, kept knocking on my bedroom door until I could no longer go back to sleep. “Fancy Nancy,” she said again. “Are you awake, sweetie?” “I’m awake,” I said. “And why are you calling me that name?” She didn’t respond. Classical music played quietly from the stereo in Dad’s study. This particular composer I couldn’t make out, as it sounded muffled through the floor, but I knew somewhere in the house Dad was conducting the orchestra. As far back as I could remember, Dad always loved classical music. “Fancy Nancy, have you fallen back asleep? Don’t make me come in there.” I suddenly realized why Mrs. Gruen was calling me “Fancy Nancy.” When Lexi Claremont asked me to solve the case of the mystery blogger, I’d had to go undercover to fit in with her clique—which meant dressing in stylish, expensive clothes that were hardly my usual style. Instead of comfortable jeans and T-shirts, I’d been wearing outfits Bess had helped me pick out, like the cashmere sweater and plaid mini I’d had on the day before yesterday. Well, as long as Mrs. Gruen didn’t call me that in front of my friends, Bess and George, it was okay, but I also hoped she hadn’t told Dad about it. “You are going to miss the parade if you stay in bed any longer.” Mrs. Gruen was a very kind and loving woman, taking care of both Dad and me, and so sweet. Who else would gently nudge me from my deep sleep and make sure that I made it to the River Heights Festival on time? She knew that if I was even ten minutes late, my good friend George would never let me hear the end of it. I sat up in bed and was stretching my arms over my head when I smelled something amazing and delicious wafting up from the kitchen. I jumped out of bed and threw open the door. Mrs. Gruen stood in the hallway, a heavyset woman with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her apron tied around her waist, arms folded over her chest. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked. “That depends on what you think it is,” she said. I took my time, breathing in slowly, savoring every second of air. “That smells like Mr. Andrews’s banana bread.” Mrs. Gruen smiled. “I picked it up special just for you this morning.” I threw my arms around her neck and gave her the biggest hug I could muster this early in the morning. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.” “I know how much you like it, and he only makes it once a week, so in a sense I was forced to buy some. It’s like I didn’t even have a choice, really.” She winked at me before walking downstairs to the kitchen. Joshua Andrews owned the local River Heights Bakery. He made the most delicious foods throughout the week and served pretty good coffee. Not quite as good as Club Coffee, but respectable. The one thing that Mr. Andrews did best of all, though, was banana bread. Once a week for as long as I could remember, Mr. Andrews would bake his famous batch of banana bread, and the line of people waiting to buy it would extend out th...
