Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) (11 page)

“Look,” I said, trying to sound firm but understanding. “You know what you did was wrong, right?”

Madonna nodded.

“You can’t come back to the show. But this”—I waved at her broken legs—“seems like punishment enough for what you did. Do you agree?”

Joe nodded.

“So are we good?” I asked, trying to sound as stern as possible.

“Yes, I—”

“Good.” I cut Madonna off. We didn’t have time for another speech. If she wasn’t our killer, someone else was, and we needed to get back to the theater and find out who. “We’re leaving—I don’t want to see you again. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Madonna said. “Sir,” she added after a second’s pause.

As we walked out of the hospital room, I looked back and saw her frantically typing away on her cell phone. Something told me her version of our little visit was
going to be all over the web within minutes—if it wasn’t already. Madonna seemed to be quite the fast typist.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” I asked Joe as we left the hospital.

He thought for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “She might be a drama queen, but I think she was honest with us at the end.”

That was my read on it too. Joe and I might have our differences, but when it came to our cases, we were like-minded.

“What is with all of these people and their obsession with Claire?” I wondered out loud. Maybe it was just that in our work with ATAC we met a lot of famous people, but celebrity obsessions didn’t make much sense to me. They were just people, after all. Busy, rich, sometimes talented people—but people nonetheless. Some were nice and some were mean, but none of them deserved to be worshipped the way so many people seemed to worship Claire.

On the street, my pocket started buzzing. My heart jumped. What if it was Nancy, calling us because something was happening at the theater? Today was opening night, after all, and if our killer was going to make a move, it had to happen soon. Luckily, it was just Vijay.

“Hey hey hey,” he said as I picked up. “You were right.”

“Always,” I said. “What was I right about this time?”

“It’s Vijay,” I mouthed to Joe. He gave me the thumbs up, and we continued walking as Vijay and I talked.

“That sticky stuff you found in the airplane engine compartment? It’s definitely a fire accelerant. It’s kind of clever, really. All they had to do was smear the inside of the compartment with that stuff. Once the engine got going, it was just a matter of time until the heat made the chemicals combust. Then,
poof!
It’s World War II all over again.”

I’d almost forgotten that we’d sent the sample off to ATAC to be analyzed. Madonna might have been a bust, but maybe this would be the clue to crack the case.

“Any idea what chemical our would-be arsonist was using?”

“Yup, it’s … uhhh … hold on one second. I wrote it down somewhere. It had a funny name. I’ll find it.”

I could hear the sound of mounds of paper being rifled through, and the occasional electronic beeping noise that seemed to follow Vijay wherever he was. He had so many computers on him at all times that he was one small step away from being a cyborg.

“Ape Affixer?” he mumbled. “Monkey Mud? It was something like that. I’m going to find it, I swear.”

But I didn’t think he needed to. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

“Gorilla Glue?” I said.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Ding ding ding! What is that stuff
anyway? I thought you were working on Broadway, not at the Bronx Zoo.”

“You’d be surprised how similar the two are….” I told him. “Anyway, Gorilla Glue is an adhesive, a kind of really strong glue they use a lot backstage. And I think I know someone who has it. Good work Veej.”

“Always,” replied Vijay. He was nothing if not humble. “Anything else I can do you for?”

“Yes, actually—can you run a trace for me on a text message?”

“Joe gave me the number already. Death threats for your prima ballerina, right? It’s a prepaid cell phone, bought in cash near the theater. Dead end. If you can let me know when it’s in use, or might still be on, I can track it. But when it’s off, there’s no way.”

Rats. I’d been doing pretty well there for a second. Still, one clue was better than a grand total of none.

I said good-bye to Vijay and turned to Joe.

“Vijay says it was Gorilla Glue inside the engine.”

“That sounds really familiar. Where have I heard of that before?”

“It’s the stuff that’s holding together Linden’s glasses. Remember who’s in charge of fixing them?”

“Damien!” Joe yelled. “It’s been that little weirdo all along! We need to warn the girls, and get back to the theater pronto. Opening night curtain call is in a few hours!”

“Let’s not leap to any conclusions,” I cautioned Joe, although I was pretty sure he was right. “After all, we still have some big questions for Laurel, too.”

“Either way, we need to get back to that theater!” replied Joe. He was running before he’d even finished the sentence.

CHAPTER
13

JOE

OPENING NIGHT JITTERS

We ran back so fast that I was almost winded by the time we arrived. Almost. I am Joe Hardy, after all.

The crowd outside the theater was out of control—a mass of crazy fans, paparazzi, and ambulance chasers who wanted to be able to say they were there the night someone tried to kill Claire Cleveland. It didn’t help that the show had a ticket lottery: Each night ten randomly chosen fans would get free seats. There were tons of people camping out just for the chance to see the show.

“Coming through!” I yelled, pushing my way through the crowd. “Out of the way, important business.”

I tried to get past four women in matching Claire Cleveland fan club T-shirts, but they wouldn’t budge.
Their big hair swayed in the wind as the crowd milled around them.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, trying to be polite and worm my way past.

“No,” said the first woman, an older blonde. “I have been waiting for this night for the last seven months, so don’t show up here right before the show opens and expect to be first in line.”

“Seven months?” I stopped in my tracks. These people really were crazy.

“We work on the show,” Frank tried to reason with her.

“Hmph,” said another one of the women. “Nice try.”

She turned to one of her friends. “We work on the show,” she repeated, in an impression of Frank that was both surprisingly accurate and surprisingly cruel. Then they turned their backs, creating a wall of Claire Cleveland faces staring back at us from their T-shirts. I tried to go around them, but it was no use. The crowd wouldn’t let us through. There was something very wrong with these people.

Suddenly the crowd parted, like in one of those nature documentaries, when a shark swims through a school of fish. People were moving out of the way, quickly! The line of women in Claire Cleveland shirts moved apart, and Jason appeared between them, his pink hair shining in the sun.

“Oy!” he shouted. “Come on. Real business going on. Some of us work here, you know. Now move!”

He flashed a smile at us.

“I was out getting lunch, and I saw you two trying to work your way back in,” he said. “Figured I’d give you a hand. You have to remember—these aren’t people. They’re fans. Whole different kettle of fish.”

Although he was small—maybe only five feet four inches—there was something about Jason that made people listen. As we followed him, the crowd parted easily before us. It was almost magic. Once we were inside, he told us that Claire and Linden were still rehearsing. He hadn’t seen Laurel or Damien all day. Nancy, Bess, and George were “somewhere,” but he couldn’t get more specific than that.

“We should talk to Claire,” I said. “We need to warn her.”

“Yeah, but warn her about what?” said Frank. “Until we get some answers from Laurel or Damien, I don’t want to go spreading rumors.”

“Good point,” I agreed. “But maybe she can tell us where they are.”

I knocked on the heavy door that led to the rehearsal room. I heard a vague voice respond from inside, and I decided that was my cue to open the door.

“Hi guys!” said Claire, who was brandishing a pistol at a seated Linden. “Come on in!”

She pointed the gun at us.

I threw my hands up in the air.

“Whoa, hey, calm down now,” I said, mentally calculating the distance between us. If I tried to tackle her, would she shoot me? I wondered …

“Oh, sorry.” Claire laughed and dropped the gun on the floor. “Prop gun. My bad.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “Just give me a minute to pry my heart out of my throat.”

Claire laughed, but Linden sighed loudly.

“So have you two found anything yet?” he asked. His voice made it clear that he expected the answer to be no.

“We’re following some leads,” said Frank.

“Sounds like a ‘no’ to me.” Linden laughed and stood up, pacing the room. He seemed on edge, but with his star getting death threats and opening night a few hours away, I could forgive him that.

“We need to talk to a few people. Have you seen Laurel or Damien?”

“Not in hours,” said Claire. Linden nodded his agreement. I looked at Frank.

“Claire …” I said. “We need you to be careful today, okay?”

Claire nodded, her eyes wide. “Well, I was planning on taking a walk down that abandoned alley next door without telling anyone, but maybe I’ll skip that.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. It was hard to keep a straight face around her, but I had to impress upon her how serious this was. It was literally life or death.

“Claire, for real,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. Man, was she warm! “If anything seems suspicious, for any reason, get one of us. Or Nancy.”

“Touching,” snickered Linden. “But I’ve got to get ready for tonight. Everyone who’s anyone is going to be here. And I’ve got to go lead a press tour backstage. Unless you need me for anything?”

Frank shook his head. “No, it’s okay. But if you see Damien or Laurel, send them our way?”

“Of course,” said Linden as he breezed out the door.

“Finally!” said Claire. “He’s such a stick-in-the-mud. You get one line wrong, and suddenly you’re running lines with him twenty times in a row! He doesn’t work any of the other actors this hard.”

“Are you ready for tonight?” I asked. I couldn’t help thinking that Linden must have decided that Claire needed all the extra rehearsal time. With the whole show basically riding on her, he had to be worried.

“I’m not even going to answer that,” she said, taking Linden’s chair. “I was
born
ready for this. Tonight is going to be fantastic!”

I have to admit, I was surprised. Claire seemed to be in a great mood, despite the death threats.

“You’re not worried?”

“Worried?” Claire laughed. “Ticket sales are through the roof! A scalper is offering tickets on Craigslist for four hundred dollars. And they’re in the mezzanine! Earlier today, my agent got a call from some national schools coalition, and they want me to do a public service announcement about standing up to bullies. This is rad!”

Claire clapped her hands with glee, like a kid in a candy store.

“I was asking about the threats, actually,” I told her. “Not the show.”

“Whatever,” she said. “It’s just some wacko with too much time on his hands. This stuff happens. Try not to sweat it.”

The theme music from her TV show suddenly started playing, and Claire paused to pull her phone from her bag.

“Ugh!” she made a face. “Speak of the devil.”

She handed the phone to me. On the screen it said “The opening act will be your final number!”

“It’s the same phone number as before,” I said. “Quick, Frank, call Vijay.”

“Already on it,” said Frank. “Hey, Veej, we need you to run a trace on that number we gave you. They just texted Claire.”

The room went quiet as Frank waited for Vijay’s response. Claire tapped her foot unconsciously, and I
wondered if she was more nervous than she let on. The silence stretched out. Finally, Claire couldn’t take it any longer.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “It’s probably some sad, Internet crazy in Omaha or something.”

“What’s that Vijay?” said Frank, putting one hand over his ear. “Okay, got it.” He hung up the phone. From his face, I could tell it wasn’t good news.

“Whoever texted you shut off their phone pretty quick,” he said. “But not before Vijay was able to trace the general location.” He paused and looked at Claire. “The text came from Manhattan.”

Claire’s face froze. A moment later she was laughing and seemed carefree, but I had seen the worry in her eyes. Claire had obviously seen many strange things in her life, but she was smart enough to know that these threats were different.

“Don’t worry, Claire,” I said. “We’re here. You’re safe.”

Claire opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a tremendous crash came from outside the door!

CHAPTER
14

NANCY

BRINGING DOWN THE HOUSE

“I said, what are you doing up here?” Damien growled again,
his hand tightening around the saw. He wasn’t a big guy, but up in the grid, it
didn’t matter. One wrong move, and we’d all go plunging off the edge of the
walkway. There was no way around him, and he was standing between us and the path back
downstairs. We were in trouble.

“We were just exploring!” said George. She took what looked
like a nervous step to the side, but I knew she was trying to block Damien from seeing
the knot we had just tied. If he knew we’d found his trap, there was no way we
could bluff out of this. “I’ve always been a big techie, and I just wanted
to learn more about the backstage stuff.”

“I’m fascinated by the light
board!” chirped Bess. “Maybe you can show me how it works?”

She smiled one of her big Bess smiles, and I knew she was trying her best
to lure him into a false sense of security. She took a step toward him.

“Don’t lie to me!” he yelled, brandishing the saw in one
hand. “Don’t you come any closer.”

Damien took a step back, and his heel caught on one of the struts that
made up the walkway. He stumbled, and I saw my chance. I lunged forward and yanked the
saw from his hand. We wrestled for a second, but I was too strong for him, and in a
second, the saw was mine. I tried to pin his arm in a shoulder lock, but he pulled away,
just out of reach. As he retreated, his hand caught my sleeve and he pulled, spinning me
around. I slammed into the railing, tumbling to my knees.