Joe and I decided to check the rest of the club before we moved on to the parking lot. We didn’t spot her anywhere. “You don’t think she’d have gone up to the balcony, do you?” I asked.
“Anyone could step over the rope blocking the stairs,” said Joe. “I can’t think of a reason she’d go up there, but we may as well check it out. We’ll have a good view of the whole crowd from there. We can look for her and check on Justin, too.”
We climbed up the stairs quickly. The balcony wasn’t too wide, but it wrapped all the way around the club.
“Would it have killed them to have a little light up here?” Joe complained.
“No one is supposed to be up here,” I reminded him.
“But they’re using it for storage. There are boxes of booze all along that wall. Somebody has to come up here,” Joe pointed out as we started around the loop. I followed him, peering into the darkness around us, then looking for Justin down on the dance floor. It wasn’t hard to find him. He was in the center of the thickest part of the crowd.
I moved my attention back to the balcony, but not in time to realize that Joe had stopped cold. I stumbled into him. “Can you announce when you’re going to do that? It’s dark up here and—”
He stepped to the side. And I saw why he’d stopped. Belinda sat in a chair in front of us. Gagged. Hands tied behind her.
Carefully I pulled the duct tape off her mouth. She coughed and managed to spit out a wadded-up piece of paper.
Joe picked it up and moved closer to the balcony rail so he could read it in the dim light from the dance floor.
“What does it say?” I demanded.
“ ‘Next time it will be you, not one of your girlfriends.’ ”
Panic! At the Disco
“Is she okay?” I asked Frank as soon as I finished reading the note that had been stuffed in Belinda’s mouth.
“No bones broken,” Frank said, running his hands down her arms. “No blood. I think she’s in shock, though. What about Justin? Can you see him?”
I checked the bottom floor. “Got him. He’s fine.” He was picking plastic bananas off the fake tree by the bar, autographing them, and tossing them to fans. “I’ll run downstairs and get Belinda some water. I don’t think we want to try and move her yet.” She looked dazed, her eyes unfocused.
“Good,” said Frank.
I turned around and caught a flash of movement in the darkness on the other side of the balcony. “Someone’s up here,” I told Frank softly. “I’m on it. You stay with Belinda.”
I locked eyes on the figure. It was heading toward the stairs. I wanted to catch whoever it was before they started down. If they made it into the crowd on the dance floor, I might lose them.
I put one hand on the balcony rail and ran, letting the railing guide me. Gaining on you, I thought. Gaining on you. I was on the same side of the balcony as the perp now. He or she veered toward the wall.
That wasn’t going to help them any, unless there was a back set of stairs and the door was over there. I shifted directions too, moving away from the railing.
A small flame flickered in the darkness. I used it to guide me.
The flame exploded into a ball of fire.
Flying right toward me.
It smashed at my feet. Some paper stuffed into a bottle of vodka had been turned into a bomb. And another one was coming at me.
I dropped to the floor. Rolled. The bottle-bomb bounced off my elbow and spun away.
The smell of alcohol suddenly flooded me. Way too much alcohol than would have been in the two bottles. I heard a sloshing sound, and I got it. The perp was dousing the floor with booze now.
I scrambled to my feet. Before I could take a step, another firebomb flew through the air.
Whomp! It hit the floor, and a wall of flame sprang to life.
I could turn and run the other way. No fire behind me. But I would never catch the perp if I did.
I wasn’t going to run away. I didn’t care if I had to get barbecued to stop whoever it was.
I plunged through the flames. The smell of sulfur mixed with the overwhelming odor of the alcohol. It took me a second to recognize the scent. Burning hair. My hair was burning. I slapped at my head and kept running, racing toward the stairs.
I reached them. Empty.
I wasn’t stopping. I took them two and three at a time.
“Fire!” someone yelled.
A couple of seconds later, a fire alarm began to pierce the music. “Please walk to the nearest exit,” a voice said over the sound system. “Please don’t panic. Walk to the nearest exit.”
But it was too late. When I hit the ground floor, it was like being caught in a riptide made of people. Running, screaming, terrified people.
Someone slammed into my side, and I lost my balance. Before I could regain my footing, I got slammed again by someone else. And I was on the floor. Feet pounding by my face.
I started to push myself up, but a high heel dug into my back as a girl climbed over me, driving me back to the ground. Then a boot smashed into the side of my head.
The room spun.
And went black.
Where’s Joe?
Where’s Joe? That was my first thought after I got Belinda out of the building and into the parking lot.
There were tons of people milling around, but I managed to pick Justin and Ryan out of the crowd. They were standing together, a couple of photographers already snapping away. And good, Rick was right next to them.
But where was Joe?
I could hear a fire engine’s siren in the distance. Coming closer. But not fast enough. Not if my brother was still inside the club.
“Joe!” I shouted. “Joe!”
He didn’t answer. That didn’t mean anything. He easily might not have heard me. He could be out here shouting for me right now.
But I didn’t see him. I didn’t see him.
I knew the rules. You weren’t ever supposed to go back into a burning building. People who did usually didn’t come back out. But if Joe was in there—
“I need that!” I snatched a water bottle out of the limp hand of a girl standing near me. She was staring at the fire, transfixed. I’m not sure she’d even noticed what I’d done.
“Give me your coat!” I ordered the guy standing next to her. He handed it over immediately. I guess my voice told him I wasn’t going to accept no as an answer.
I dumped the water from the bottle over the coat. There wasn’t enough water to do more than dampen it a little. It would have to be enough. I threw the coat over my head and dashed toward the building.
“Frank, no!” Belinda cried out.
I didn’t turn back. I raced inside. The smoke immediately seared my lungs and stung my eyes. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. “Joe!” I shouted.
He’d be low. He’d know to get down and crawl out to keep from sucking in too much smoke and passing out. I dropped to my hands and knees, searching the floor.
Over by the balcony stairs, I told myself. That’s where he’ll be.
That’s if Joe had gotten down from the balcony. If he hadn’t . . . there was nothing I could do. A section of the roof had already fallen in up there.
I wasn’t giving any more thought to the possibility that he was trapped up there. He’d made it down. He had to have.
I crawled toward the staircase, an abandoned Cleen Teen sign sliding under my hand. My right foot knocked against something solid. I looked over my shoulder.
Joe!
I scrambled over to him and did a quick eval. Unconscious but breathing. I rolled him onto his back, then grabbed him by the shoulders. Keeping as low as I could, I dragged him toward the door. Picking him up would be bad. It was better to keep him on the ground, as far away from the smoke and toxins in the air as possible. As far away from the heat as possible. I knew the heat as little as six feet up could already be close to two hundred degrees.
Joe twitched and let out a moan, then started tryin
g to lift his head. “Don’t move! I’m getting you out of here.”
I kept repeating those words in my head as I struggled toward the exit. I’m getting you out of here. I’m getting you out of here.
And we were out. Into the night air.
Ryan sprinted over to me. “Is he okay?”
“I think so, yeah,” I answered.
“Let’s get him into the SUV. We’ve already got Belinda loaded up,” he told me.
“Good. Okay, good,” I answered. We got Joe to his feet, supporting him between us. Slowly we made out way over to the SUV. Rick had the side door open, waiting for us.
Ryan and I loaded Joe inside, then climbed in ourselves. We joined the caravan of vehicles being directed out of the lot by the police.
“I didn’t catch him,” Joe muttered, half out of it.
“We will,” I promised him.
“Catch who?” Rick asked.
I gave everyone a quick rundown of what had happened to Belinda. The threatening note. Joe thinking he saw the perp in the balcony and going after him. “I think the perp set the fire. To keep Joe from catching him—or her,” I concluded.
“Whoa. That’s like something out of one of your movies,” Rick told Justin.
“Yeah,” said Justin. I could see his face in the rearview mirror. It was drained of color. I think for the first time, Justin actually realized he was in danger. Real, non-movie, could-end-up-non-movie-dead danger.
“Is that dude okay?” Rick asked. “It looks like he’s passed out in his car.”
I looked out the window as we slowly drove by the parked car. “Stop for a minute,” I told Justin. “Rick’s right. He needs help.”
Justin braked, and I jumped out of the SUV. The guy in the driver’s seat was slumped over the steering wheel. “Maybe he managed to get to his car, then passed out from smoke inhalation,” I suggested.
I tapped on the window. The driver didn’t respond. So I opened the door.
The driver’s body tilted, then slid out of the car and onto the asphalt.
“It’s Elijah,” Justin burst out.
He definitely wasn’t a victim of smoke inhalation. Now that he was sprawled out on his back, I could see that the front of his shirt was soaked with blood. I carefully pushed the material up—and saw a deep stab wound.
Rick sucked in his breath with a hiss. “Is he—”
I pressed my fingers to the side of Elijah’s neck. And felt nothing. No pulse. “Yeah,” I answered. “He’s dead.”
Extremely Wrong
“So I guess Elijah’s not a stalker suspect anymore,” I said as Frank and I waited in the ER to make sure my head hadn’t been permanently damaged or anything.
“I’m not sure,” Frank answered.
“The guy’s dead,” I reminded him.
“I know. I was there.” Frank rubbed his face with his fingers. “But maybe he was the stalker. He could have been murdered after he tied up Belinda and torched the place.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. I hurt my thinker, remember?” I asked, tapping the place on the side of my head where I’d gotten booted.
“Elijah getting killed hurts my thinker,” said Frank. “Say he wasn’t the stalker—the stalker wouldn’t have killed him. Justin hates Elijah. Killing him doesn’t hurt Justin. Not that Justin wanted the guy dead . . . ”
“So we have a stalker and a murderer? We got two?” I asked.
“That’s what it seems like. Unless the stalker had another reason to kill Elijah. Not as an attack on Justin. Something else.” Frank stared down at the floor, thinking.
“Okay, say he was the stalker. Maybe somebody found out and killed him to protect Justin,” I suggested. “Or, say he wasn’t the stalker. Maybe Elijah saw the stalker do something suspicious. Maybe the stalker was worried Elijah could ID him—or her.” I was pretty proud of myself for coming up with those ideas. My head hurt.
“I keep thinking about the fight at the bowling alley,” Frank said. “The paparazzi and the Cleen Teeners got into it. The CTs really hate the paps for spreading stars’ bad behavior around.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I guess they feel like if the paps weren’t always catching teen stars like Justin doing non-cleen things, the stars wouldn’t do as much damage. No as many people would know they were being bad boys and girls. So they wouldn’t have as much power as negative role models.”
“So we could have one perp. A perp who has something against Justin and the paparazzi,” Frank concluded.
“I’d be happier if it did turn out to be one person,” I said. “Otherwise we have somebody willing to torch a building and somebody willing to stab someone running around Bayport.”
“One or two, the stakes got upped tonight. We’ve moved on from threats and warnings to arson and murder,” Frank answered. “We’ve got to work this thing fast before somebody else ends up dead.”
“Somebody like us, if we don’t come up with a good cover story for what we’ve been doing tonight for Mom and Aunt Trudy,” I said. “Doing a mission on home turf has complications.”
Frank nodded. “Usually we can just say we’re on a field trip or something and we’re good for days. I don’t know how we’re going to explain the lump on your head—or this funky patch of hair.”
I touched the little section of hair that had gotten singed. “Man, I’d almost forgotten about that.”
“You know how we’re always wanting Dad to treat us like regular agents?” asked Frank.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s trash that for tonight. We’re going to need him to control Mom and Aunt T,” Frank said.
“Good thing he’s here then.” He was rushing through the waiting room toward us.
“I know that I’m supposed to treat you like I would anyone else,” he said in a rush. “But I can’t know you’re in the hospital and not be here.”
“Actually, we could use your help,” I admitted. It hurt a little to say that. Not as much as my head hurt, though.
We settled on the story of a minor fender bender. I’d just stick a bandage over my piece of funky hair.
I wish the story had been true. Because in reality, our perp—or perps—had proven they were seriously out of control.
FRANK
Joe and I were on high alert the next day when we met up with Justin and Ryan in Justin’s trailer. The director wanted some more takes of the scene where Justin got shot. That meant shooting in the crowd, with all our suspects in the vicinity.
The Cleen Teens—including Caro and William—were already out there, pressed up against the barriers, signs up. The paparazzi were in place too. Joe and I had seen them on the way in. Some seemed sad over Elijah’s death. All of them seemed at least minorly freaked.
Emily was in her own trailer. Probably hating Justin more than ever today, after seeing him with Belinda.
Sydney was at the other end of Justin’s trailer on the phone with Star Gazer, telling them how heroic Justin had been the night before, helping get people out of the fire.
Ryan was right here. Sitting about two feet away from Justin. I had a hard time believing the guy would want his own brother dead. But it’s not like people hadn’t been murdered because of jealousy before. Lots of people.
There was a tap on the door, and my muscles tensed. The high-alert thing. Rick swung open the door. “They’re ready for you, bro,” he told Justin.
“The extra security is out there, right?” Justin asked. He’d really finally gotten that he was in life-threatening danger.
“All over the place,” Rick assured him. “Almost as much security as fans, and that’s saying some-thin’.”
Joe, Ryan, and I—and three security guards—walked Justin over to the section of Main Street that had been closed down for the shoot. He took his place next to Emily. When the director called, “Action,” they kissed. No squabbling. Not tantrums. They just did their job and kissed.
Then Justin turned and walked away from her. I did
a suspect check, trying to lock each of their positions in my head.
“Stop!” the actor who was supposed to shoot Justin called out.
“I’m supposed to be the one who decides when to stop,” the director told him. “What’s the problem?”
“The handle of this gun is all sticky,” he complained.
Instantly one of the crew members rushed over, cleaned the gun, and handed it back to him.
The director clapped her hands. “Okay, back into your starting places.”
The clapboard got snapped together in front of Justin and Emily. They kissed.
My brain felt itchy. Something was wrong. There was something I’d missed.
Justin turned and walked away.
The gun handle is sticky, I thought. Sticky.
That was it!
I sprinted forward and hurled myself at the actor with the gun, taking us both down to the ground.
The gun went off. And the bullet made a hole in one of the cars parked on the street.
Justin sat down right where he’d been standing. He got it. He knew that he’d almost been killed.
The bullets in the gun weren’t blanks.
“Get William!” I yelled to Joe.
JOE
William bolted.
I bolted after him. The lump in my head protested with every step. The spot on my back that had gotten the high heel wasn’t exactly happy either.
I put my hands on the low barrier and vaulted over it. Then I slammed my way through the crowd, elbows out. People had to get out of my way or get rammed. That’s all there was to it.
I broke free of the mob. Which way had William gone? I looked right and left. There he was. Running east. He wasn’t getting away from me. Not a second time.
I tore after him. William flung open the door of the Kiddie World shop. I was only a dozen steps behind him. I reached Kiddie World and pushed the door. Didn’t open.
Through the big display window, I could see William shoving things against it. A crib. A freestanding closet painted with flowers. A dresser.
Double Trouble Page 9
