10 A Script for Danger (10 page)

“I believe you,” George assessed.

“Of course, if I actually saw a ghost,” Brian said, “this is what I'd do.” He mimed attacking the ghost and knocking it out with some kind of martial arts moves.

“Aren't ghosts transparent?” I asked.

“Sure, sure,” Brian replied. “But what if I have to fight off a snake that crawls out of a sewer?”

“You're crazy!” Bess laughed.

“Brian! We're ready to do a take!” Alex called.

Brian nodded good-bye as he ran off to take his place in front of the camera.

“And—ACTION!”

Apparently, the lengthy rehearsal time had paid off. Everything moved just as it was supposed to. The camera was mounted on a dolly so that it could roll next to Brian as he walked alongside the house, looking pensive. Even Alex calmed down a bit as he watched the first take in the monitor.

In addition to the artificial fog, a creaking sound coming from the trees added to the dramatic mood. I tried to imagine how the shot would look in the final film; the script indicated that many of the more sinister scenes would be enhanced with visual effects.

The creaking sound became louder and suddenly Brian caught my eye, breaking out of character.

“Brian?” Alex said. “What are you . . . cut!”

Before I could register what was happening, Brian pushed me to the ground just a split second before an enormous light tipped over and landed with a resounding crash—right where I had been standing.

“NANCY! ARE YOU OKAY?” ALEX
and Lali rushed over as Bess and George helped me to my feet.

“Yep. A little surprised, is all.” I tried to seem composed, but my heart was racing.

“If Brian hadn't seen the light falling . . .” Bess's voice quivered.

Spencer's hands shook as he examined the light stand. “Someone moved the sandbag off the stand and loosened the screw,” he muttered. “That's why it fell!”

“Are you sure someone didn't just forget to put on a sandbag and tighten the screw?” Lali asked.

“This light has been here for at least an hour!” Spencer replied defensively. “If someone had forgotten to do those things—which none of my people would—it would have fallen over a long time ago.”

“I had to ask!” Lali snapped.

“No, you didn't!” Spencer spat.

“Thank you, Brian,” I said gratefully, regaining my balance.

“Anyone would have done the same. I'm just glad I noticed the light tipping over before . . .”

He didn't seem to want to finish the sentence out loud, so I silently added,
before it crushed me like a bug
. Several crew members crowded around the fallen light, murmuring. Sensing the growing dissent among the troops, Lali took charge and addressed the group.

“Listen! Whoever is pulling these pranks is ruining the film and putting all our jobs—and now our lives—in danger. If this is a vendetta against Alex—or me—please have the courage to come forward and discuss this like an adult,” she pleaded.

Suddenly Brian was standing right next to her.
“What is the purpose of putting people's lives at risk? What could all of this possibly be worth?” he added passionately.

Lali seemed surprised at first, and then said, “Thank you, Brian. That's exactly right.”

As we all looked around, one baffled face to another, nobody could answer the one question that had been plaguing me from the moment the firecrackers went off.

Lali continued, “Alex and I have a legal and financial obligation to finish this film. I will no longer tolerate any of this. From now on, this set is closed. Only those who are absolutely necessary are allowed to be near the inn. I will be placing security guards at the entrance and exit.” Lali's eyes were stern; she meant business.

“And I'm calling the police,” she mumbled quietly, pulling out her phone. I wasn't about to argue with her. All the other pranks had been startling, sure, but they were harmless. This time, I could have been seriously hurt.

“Back to one, people!” Nysa announced, trying to restore order. George, Bess, and I lingered at the back of the lawn, keeping our distance from the set. Meanwhile, Cora, who had been filming the entire incident, had repositioned herself to capture Spencer and the electricians picking up the fallen light and carrying it away. Her behind-the-scenes documentary was getting to be almost as dramatic as the film itself.

However, when Alex noticed her, he quickly took his sister aside.

I couldn't hear their conversation, but from Cora's reaction, it wasn't hard to guess that Alex had kicked her off the set again. She stomped back to base camp.

“Nancy!” Lali came running over as soon as she finished her phone call. “I'm so sorry this happened to you! Are you sure you're okay?”

I nodded.

“I called the police.” She shook her head. “But none of these pranks classify as crimes except for the threatening note, and that was two days ago. They think the rest of the incidents were accidents or plain bad luck.”

“Maybe the suspect was targeting Nancy on purpose,” George speculated. “Or maybe she's getting too close.”

“You may be right,” Lali said. “And that's why I need to ask you three to take a step back. Please stop asking so many questions. We can't risk anyone's safety.”

“But we can't let the prankster get away with this!” I exclaimed.

Lali shrugged. “He or she may have already done irreversible damage. Our budget was tight to begin with, but with these pranks slowing us down, we've been spending way more than I'd anticipated. I don't think we have enough money left for the big graveyard scene,” she confessed. “I don't know what to do. The graveyard is crucial to the film. It's our big dramatic ending!”

“Quiet on set!” Nysa shouted.

“Girls, I'm sorry,” Lali said. “You can hang out at base camp, at least until everything has calmed down. Right now, I need to stay focused on making sure that there
is
a movie to save.”

She walked away before we could protest any further.

“You know, without the graveyard scene, the Fourth of July Carnival could go on as planned,” Bess pointed out as we walked away from the inn.

“That means that if Roberta Ely
is
somehow involved in these pranks,” I observed dolefully, “they're working.”

We retreated to base camp with the rest of the “non-vitals.” Bess insisted that I sit down on one of the plastic chairs near the craft service table and sip water slowly, even though I felt completely fine. Moments later Spencer came running from the set. He was visibly perturbed as he rummaged around in his truck, and when he came out, he was furious.

“Who took my Phillips head screwdriver?” Spencer shouted. “This is so messed up. Come on, guys. I know I had it in my tool belt! I used it ten minutes ago!”

There was no answer.

“Maybe you lost it?” Omar suggested smugly.

“Thanks, man. That's extremely helpful,” Spencer
responded. “Seriously, whoever is taking my stuff needs to return it. Just leave it in my truck. No questions asked, okay?”

As I watched Spencer trudge back to the set, I noticed another figure moving through the woods . . . and quickly.

I tried to show Bess and George, but the person was moving too fast.

“It has to be Sal,” I whispered. “He's taking the same route as he did yesterday!”

“You stay here, Nancy. Let us go,” Bess said.

She should have known that even a near miss with a falling light wasn't enough to stop me from trailing a suspect.

The three of us tried to look as innocent as possible as we meandered around the edge of the woods. Finally we spotted the figure again. It was definitely Sal. We followed him into the trees, taking care to linger far enough behind him so that he wouldn't hear our footsteps. However, he kept picking up his speed until he was practically running; and then he disappeared.

“Oh no,” Bess said, peering into the dense foliage in front of us. “We lost him. He could be anywhere.”

I glanced at the ground, where I noticed flat spots where the leaves had been trampled to mush.

“Look!” I pointed out. “He's obviously been going along this path regularly. He accidentally paved a trail.”

We followed the path of crushed leaves and arrived at a clearing near a small pond. Several feet from shore, Sal sat at a wooden picnic table with his back to us.

“Is he crying?” George whispered, noticing his shaky movements. I thought the same thing for a moment, but then, as I inched closer, I realized . . .

Sal was hunched over a book, taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly he turned around.

“You again!” he shouted, standing up. “Why can't you let me have some peace?”

“What are you doing out here?” I asked. “You might as well come clean now.”

I inched closer until I could see what he was reading:
How to Write and Sell Your Screenplay in Three Easy
Steps
. From what I could see, Sal's notes consisted of diagrams, charts, and names.

“You're writing a screenplay?” I asked, stunned.

“What's it about?” Bess inquired, automatically turning on her bright-eyed charm.

“Very funny. Just go ahead and laugh,” Sal challenged her. “Get it out of your system.”

“I wasn't joking,” Bess said defensively.

Sal narrowed his eyes. “I know what you people think of me,” he said. “Just a dumb old man who doesn't know about anything besides milk and cookies.”

“Nobody thinks you're stupid,” I said truthfully. “A lot of people think you're crabby, though.”

“I'm here to collect a paycheck, not make friends,” Sal said stubbornly. “And I don't need anyone stealing my ideas.” He flipped over his legal pad just to emphasize his point.

“Is that why you're hiding all the way out here in the woods?” I asked.

“It's taken me twenty years of working on film sets to work up the courage to write my own screenplay,”
Sal grumbled, avoiding my gaze, “and I don't want anyone to know if I fail.”

He sat down on the bench with his shoulders slumped. “Please don't write about this,” he begged, “or tell anyone on the crew.”

“We promise,” Bess replied, “but I bet people would be a lot more understanding than you think.”

“Alex used to be a paralegal for my dad,” I told Sal, “and he said that his parents thought he was playing an April Fools' joke when he told them he was going to become a director instead of going to law school.”

“So?” Sal grunted.

“So,” I continued, “they sure don't think he's joking now.”

Sal exhaled. I thought I saw a glimmer of a grin on his face.

“I need to finish my outline,” he mumbled. We took the hint and left him alone.

The unexpected discovery of Sal's Hollywood aspirations kept me preoccupied during the short trek back to set. I momentarily stopped thinking about
my near-death experience only a short time before. However, seeing the disproportionately large number of crew members milling around base camp was a harsh reminder of how desperate the situation had become—and how far we still were from nailing the culprit.

George groaned. “First Kendall, then Cora, then Sal! We keep ruling out suspects, but we aren't getting closer to the truth!” She flopped down on a chair, exasperated.

“I'm not quite ready to rule out Cora,” I interjected.

“You sound more paranoid than Sal,” Bess said. “Cora has been trying to
help
us.”

“I just don't trust her yet,” I insisted. I leaned down to tie my shoelace when a sudden vibration nearly knocked me off my feet.

“What's wrong, Nancy?” Bess squeaked.

I touched my pocket. “It's my cell phone. I put it on silent.” I giggled, embarrassed. Maybe my brush with danger had me more unsettled than I realized.

“Hello?”

An unfamiliar male voice said, “Hi, um, this is Ronan Beale. I got a message that you wanted to interview me?”