Top Ten Ways to Die

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Sure, Brewster seemed like a nice guy. But then I remembered the way he hollered at his crew.

  “I still can’t believe it’s Brewster,” Vee insisted. “We settled our problems long ago. We get along great now. He’s just a big, sweet teddy bear.”

  “Well, maybe,” said Jillian. “But who else could be doing this, Vee?”

  The pop star shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a crazed fan.”

  Jillian’s face dropped.

  She was the president of Vee’s fan club, after all.

  “I’m sorry! Not you, Jillian,” said Vee, catching herself. “You’re great! I think of you more as a friend than a fan. I totally trust you.”

  Jillian looked up. “You do?”

  “Completely. In fact, you’re the only person I trust to help me get out of this stupid mermaid outfit.”

  She looked up at Frank and me and cleared her throat.

  “Do you mind, boys?”

  That was our cue to leave. So we left the trailer and headed back to the soundstage. On the way, we ran into T-Mix—the little producer with the huge talent.

  “How’s Vee?” he asked. “I just heard what happened.”

  We told T-Mix that his latest recording star was a little shaky, but okay.

  He ran his hand through his long braids. “I guess it’s not a good time to talk to Vee about doing a dance remix,” he said. “‘Girls Rule’ is climbing up the charts. We should release a new version for the clubs.”

  I looked at T-Mix. “I’m not sure if it’s a good time to drag Vee back into a studio right now. But I guess it can’t hurt to ask.”

  T-Mix thought about it. “Maybe I’ll ask her after lunch.”

  He turned around and walked away. Frank and I crossed the soundstage, heading back to the scene of the crime. The crew was busy knocking down the set and stacking the panels against the wall.

  We looked around for Brewster. We wanted to ask him if there was something we could do to help out. We found him in the corner, talking to Spider Jones.

  The director waved his arms at Brewster. “How? How did this happen? Who hung the scenery panel? Who?”

  Brewster lowered his head. “I did, sir.”

  Spider freaked out. “You? You are responsible? You almost killed my star!”

  Brewster looked up. “I don’t understand it. I checked and double-checked the rigging. Everything was secure. I don’t understand how this happened.”

  Spider folded his long arms across his narrow chest. “I don’t know what to say, Brewster. Maybe you should triple-check everything from now on. Vee Sharp was almost killed.”

  Brewster didn’t say anything.

  “Vee Sharp is a huge star. She’s one of the most powerful young women in show business! If you mess up this video shoot, Brewster, you’ll never work in this town again!”

  The director spun around and stalked off. Brewster just stood there, breathing in and out slowly.

  I felt terrible for the guy.

  But maybe I shouldn’t have.

  Maybe Brewster was guilty.

  Frank and I waited a few minutes before approaching him. Then we asked Brewster if there was anything we could do.

  He glanced up at us with a strange look on his face. He blinked his eyes, rubbed his beard, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure,” he said softly. “You can help the crew stack up the panels. Thanks, boys.”

  He turned and walked away.

  As he rounded the corner, he let out a loud grunt.

  Then he swung his fist through the air. And knocked over a ladder.

  “Did you see that?” Frank whispered.

  “Yes, I did,” I said.

  Frank frowned. “It looks like the big, sweet teddy bear has a big, bad temper.”

  8.

  Die, Sister, Die!

  After the morning’s disaster, Spider Jones decided to play it safe and shoot a scene that wasn’t quite so dangerous. So Brewster put us to work—slapping plaster onto fake craters to look like the lunar surface.

  “It’s pretty simple,” Brewster explained to us. “Vee will be dressed up in a spacesuit. All she has to do is walk across the set and stick a ‘Girls Rule’ flag into the sand. There’s no risk involved.”

  “Unless she trips on a crater,” I pointed out.

  Brewster wrinkled his brow. “Maybe you’re right. Don’t make them too tall . . . or too sharp.”

  Joe and I finished the job quickly while the crew hung a large backdrop of stars behind the set. Spider Jones sat back in his director’s chair and studied the scene. He yelled at the lighting guy, and then the cameraman, and just about everybody in sight.

  What a creep.

  When I saw T-Mix approach the director, I was tempted to warn him to back off. Spider was in a terrible mood.

  But then again, Spider was always in a terrible mood.

  “Excuse me . . . Mr. Jones,” T-Mix said hesitantly. “I really need to borrow Vee for a couple of hours. We have to lay down a few tracks in the recording studio. How long will this scene take?”

  Spider Jones glared at the record producer. “The scene will take as long as it takes!” he snapped.

  T-Mix backed off and turned around. He looked at Joe and me, then shook his head, his long braids swinging back and forth. As he walked away, he muttered the word “jerk.”

  I looked back at Spider. The spiky-haired director was a jerk. But for some reason, I didn’t think he was guilty of terrorizing Vee Sharp. She was the star of his video, after all. And he certainly didn’t need to sneak around to terrorize people. He did it openly, to everybody, all the time.

  Brewster walked onto the set. “We’re ready to go, Spider.”

  The director clapped his hands sharply. “Places, everyone! Where is my star?”

  Jillian Goode popped her head around the backdrop of stars. “Vee’s on her way, but she’s moving a little slow!”

  We all looked up and waited. Finally, Vee came lumbering around the corner in a huge bulky spacesuit. The crew started laughing and applauding.

  Vee tried to take a bow—but it was impossible for her to bend at the waist.

  “Wow! Vee!” Spider gushed. “You look very . . . authentic! Take your place on the moon set, please.”

  “And be careful of the craters!” Brewster added with a worried look on his face.

  Maybe Brewster is innocent, I thought. He seemed genuinely concerned about Vee’s safety. In fact, he held her arm as she stepped onto the sand. Then, handing her the “Girls Rule” flag, he warned her once again about the plaster craters.

  “Okay, OKAY!” Spider shouted, clapping his hands. “Quiet on the set! Vee, let’s do a quick run-through before we shoot it. Remember: You’re on the moon! There’s very little gravity! You bounce! You float! Got it?”

  Vee fastened the helmet over her head and nodded.

  “Okay,” said the director. “Ready? Go!”

  “STOP!”

  A deep voice bellowed from the other end of the soundstage. Everybody stopped and turned around.

  “Stop shooting! We’re closing down the production!”

  A pot-bellied man stormed onto the set. With his jet black toupee, trimmed mustache, and shiny blue suit, he looked like a sleazy used-car salesman.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered to Jillian Goode.

  “It’s Jackson Puck,” she said. “Vee’s agent.”

  Following behind him was a young girl I recognized immediately. It was Vee Sharp’s little sister, Kay. I’d seen her on one of those VTV reality shows, trying to launch a music career of her own. She came off like a total brat, bad-mouthing her famous big sister every chance she got. She even dyed her blond hair black so fans wouldn’t confuse them.

  “That’s Kay Sharp, Vee’s wicked half sister,” whispered Jillian. She reached up and held her nose.

  “You don’t seem to like her very much,” I said.

  “Have you heard her sing?”

  I nodded. “She doesn’t have much t
alent, does she?”

  “No, but she has an agent. Vee’s agent.”

  I looked up and watched Jackson Puck. The greasy-haired agent marched across the set and held his hand over the camera lens.

  “I will not risk the safety of my client,” he told Spider Jones. “Someone is threatening her life. There have already been a couple of attempts right here on this set.”

  Spider Jones stood up. “Calm down, Mr. Puck. We’re taking every precaution to make sure Vee is safe.”

  “She almost drowned this morning!”

  “But she’s fine now! She agreed to continue shooting! We have a schedule!”

  “And I have a client to protect.” Jackson turned around and pointed at Vee. “Honey, go back to your trailer. You’re done shooting for today.”

  Vee’s face dropped. She started to protest, but Jackson waved his finger at her.

  “Please, Vee. Go back to your trailer. I need to talk to the director . . . alone.”

  Vee sighed and lumbered her way across the moon set. Jillian took her arm and helped her. Meanwhile, Jackson Puck threw his arm around Spider Jones and started talking softly. They walked away so no one could hear them.

  “I wish I knew what they were saying,” I whispered to Joe.

  Joe stared across the soundstage and squinted his eyes. His face lit up. “Do you have your MP3 player with you? The one that doubles as a walkie-talkie?”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled it out. “Yes, but what’s your point?”

  “Look over there. See my jacket on the chair? My MP3 player is in the pocket.”

  Good thinking, Joe.

  The director and the agent were just a few feet away from Joe’s jacket. I popped one of the wireless headphones into my ear, handed Joe the other one, and adjusted my player. After a second or two of static, we were able to hear voices.

  “But we have a contract.”

  “And I have a video to make.”

  “Vee is in danger.”

  Suddenly the voices faded. I looked up to see the two men stroll away—out of the player’s hearing range. I glanced at Joe, who looked as disappointed as I was. We were about to pull the earphones out when another voice caught our attention.

  “I am so sick of everyone making such a fuss over her.”

  Joe and I peered across the soundstage. Vee’s sister Kay was leaning against the chair with Joe’s jacket on it. She was talking into her cell phone—and we could hear every word she said.

  “Jackson is supposed to be my agent too. But how can he launch my singing career when he’s devoting all his time and energy to her? ‘Little Miss Pop Star.’ Give me a break.”

  Joe shot me a look. “What a backstabber,” he muttered.

  “You of all people should understand where she’s coming from, Joe. It must be hard to have an older, more talented sibling.” I nudged his arm.

  “Dream on, bro.”

  We both started to chuckle. But then Kay Sharp said something that chilled us to the bone.

  “I just wish Vee would hurry up and die already.”

  Whoa.

  Hearing that, we realized that Kay wasn’t just a jealous little sister. She was a suspect.

  Joe and I decided we’d better go check on Vee, so we walked across the soundstage and headed for her trailer. Before we even knocked, we could hear Vee’s voice.

  “What’s that funny smell? Is it gas?”

  I glanced at my brother, who pounded his fist on the door. “Vee? Vee! It’s Joe!”

  “Come in!”

  We burst into the trailer. Vee Sharp stood in the middle of the room next to Jillian Goode. Their bodies were tensed up, their eyes scanning the room.

  “Vee thinks she smells gas,” said Jillian.

  I held up a finger. “Nobody move. Just listen.”

  Everybody froze.

  At first we couldn’t hear anthing. Then a soft, whispery sound grabbed our attention. Slowly we turned toward the small kitchenette in the corner.

  The stove was hissing.

  The trailer was filling with gas!

  9.

  Night Stalkers

  I took a step toward the hissing stove.

  “Wait,” said Frank. “Vee and Jillian, go outside. But open the door slowly. You don’t want to set off any sparks.”

  The two girls inched their way to the trailer door, opened it carefully, and stepped outside.

  “Joe, see if you can find the valve. I’ll start opening windows.”

  My brother leaned toward the window behind the leather lounge chair, while I stooped down in front of the small stove.

  “The pilot light is out,” I said, examining the stovetop. I reached for the cabinet below and carefully opened the door. “I found the valve.”

  And that wasn’t all.

  There was another threat taped to the copper pipe: NUMBER 5: GAS.

  I reached in and grasped the valve. After a few turns, the stove stopped hissing. “There. It’s off.”

  Frank let out of sigh of relief. Opening the rest of the windows, we grabbed a couple of magazines off a shelf and started fanning the air. A few minutes later, the smell of gas was gone.

  “Is it okay to come in now?”

  Vee stood in the doorway with Jillian right behind her. We waved them inside and showed them the newest message.

  “Do me a favor,” Vee said, crumpling the note in her hand. “Don’t tell anybody about this. My agent will flip out. He’s already trying to stop the whole production.”

  Jillian sat down on the sofa next to her. “Maybe that isn’t such a bad idea, Vee. Someone is trying to kill you. Aren’t you scared?”

  Vee looked down at the floor. “Yes. But I’m more scared of not having a video ready for the VTV premiere next Friday. They’ve been advertising it for weeks. My fans will go ballistic if we cancel it.”

  Jillian put her hand on Vee’s shoulder. “Your fans will understand. Believe me, I should know.”

  Vee looked up and smiled. “Thanks, Jillian. But I’m going to finish this video . . . if it’s the last thing I do.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Just do me a favor,” she said to all of us, flashing that famous smile of hers. “Keep an eye out for me, okay?”

  No problem.

  The rest of the day’s shoot went off without a hitch. Vee managed to talk her agent into letting her film the astronaut scene. And I have to admit she “moonwalked” like a pro.

  Afterward, Frank and I went back to the hotel. Aunt Trudy was waiting for us at the poolside café, snacking on chips and salsa and sipping a big pink cocktail served in a hollowed-out pineapple.

  “So how did it go today, boys?” she asked.

  “Great,” I said. Then I described Vee’s mermaid and astronaut scenes.

  Of course, I didn’t tell her about Vee nearly drowning or the leaking gas pipe.

  “How was your day, Aunt Trudy?”

  “Fabulous!” she gushed. “Betty and I had a ball! First we had lunch in one of those trendy restaurants on Rodeo Drive. Then we went on the bus tour of celebrity homes.”

  “That sounds cool,” said Frank. “See some nice cribs, Aunt Trudy?”

  “Cribs? You could hardly call them cribs, Frank. These were the biggest mansions I’ve ever seen! Absolutely beautiful! And you should see the place where Vee Sharp lives!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Vee’s house is part of the tour?”

  “Yes! And what a palace! It’s huge . . . and very modern, with a Japanese garden and a big pond and a fancy iron gate. Gorgeous. I wish I could have seen what it looks like inside.”

  “Me too,” I muttered under my breath.

  Frank kicked me under the table.

  “Do you still have the brochure for the bus tour?” he asked Aunt Trudy. “Maybe Joe and I will check it out after dinner.”

  “Let me see,” she said, reaching for her purse. She worked her way through the pockets and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here it
is. And look—you could probably catch the last tour of the day.”

  Frank studied the tour schedule. “You’re right, Aunt Trudy. What do you say, Joe? Want to check out your girlfriend’s house?”

  “Want to stop teasing me about Vee?”

  “No.”

  Aunt Trudy shushed us and flagged down a waiter. “Let’s order now,” she said. “Or else Joe will never get to see his girlfriend’s house.”

  After dinner Frank and I left the hotel and walked to the tour bus stop. We made it in the nick of time. The bright blue bus pulled up to the curb just as we were crossing the street.

  “Hurry up, boys,” shouted the tour guide, a short chubby guy with thick glasses. “Climb aboard.”

  It was a little embarrassing to get on such a cheesy-looking bus. The sides featured a big cartoon sun with a human face. Its eyes were bugging out through a pair of binoculars and its tongue hung down like a panting dog’s. In huge letters were the words JOLLY PAULY’S HOLLYWOOD ADVENTURE.

  We paid the tour guide, who I assumed was Jolly Pauly, and took a seat in between an older couple who appeared to be asleep and a young family with a pair of crying kids.

  “Hello, ladies and germs,” said the tour guide, speaking into a microphone. His voice was incredibly nasal and sounded way too loud through the bus’s speakers. “I’m Jolly Pauly, and this is Jolly Pauly’s Hollywood Adventure.”

  I glanced at Frank and rolled my eyes.

  “Coming up on your left,” the guide continued, “is a house that was once owned by the legendary Charlie Chaplin.”

  “Who?” I said to Frank.

  Jolly Pauly heard me. “Who is Charlie Chaplin, you ask? Why, he’s the silent screen’s original king of comedy. Known as the Little Tramp, he starred in such classic gems as The Gold Rush, City Lights, and The Great Dictator.” He stopped and winked at me. “Perhaps you should brush up on your film history, young man.”

  Frank whispered in my ear, “Perhaps you shouldn’t ask any more questions, young man.”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “Now back to the tour, ladies and germs,” the jolly guide went on. “On your right is a house that belonged to the beautiful Esther Williams.”