038 The Final Scene

by Carolyn Keene

  Six

  SHE’S HERE,” Nancy said ten minutes later as she triumphantly dangled the earring and note from the wreath in Detective Ryan’s face. “Here’s all the evidence you need to halt the demolition.”

  “Where did you find these?” Ryan asked curiously.

  “Joseph found the earring last night in the leading lady’s dressing room,” George said. “And the note was delivered to Nancy’s house with a funeral wreath.”

  The detective shook his head. “I’m sorry, but all the earring proves is that your friend was here, not that she still is. And the note doesn’t state that she’s here, only that if the theater dies, she will, too.”

  Nancy, George, and Detective Ryan were standing in Joseph’s office, all looking frustrated.

  Nancy carefully put the card back into its purple envelope and shoved it back in her purse.

  “I’m sorry, Nancy, George, but I need positive proof that she’s here.”

  George turned her back on them and stretched. Nancy knew that the experience was beginning to take its toll on her friend. “So,” George said, facing them again, “what you’re saying is that we’ve got today and tomorrow to find Bess. Because after that this building is going to be torn down—with my cousin in it.”

  “Please,” Detective Ryan said. “Believe me that I’m on your side. I understand your concern. But we’ve searched this place from top to bottom, and we can’t find her. I have to assume she isn’t here.”

  “And Bart Anderson is more important than one missing girl?” Nancy asked pointedly.

  “Look, if we can find out who took her and where she is, Anderson won’t matter. But until then, well, yes.” Ryan stood up. “I can’t hold up his project without something more concrete than an earring and note.”

  Nancy sank wearily down into the desk chair. “But we don’t have enough time!”

  “We’ll find her, Nan.” George’s voice was determined. “And maybe Nicholas will succeed in pulling strings at City Hall to stop the demolition.”

  “Nancy . . . ” The detective’s eyes were kind and full of concern. “I really do understand. And I’m sorry. I have to get back downtown now, but I will leave some people here to keep searching for your friend.”

  When Detective Ryan left the office, Nancy turned to George. “Okay,” she said. “We’ve got to move into high gear. I’m going to try to find out more about Mueller. You learn all you can about Nicholas and keep an eye on him if he comes to the theater. See if he does anything suspicious.”

  “Nancy—” George began.

  “I know what you’re going to say, George, but we can’t rule him out. Not yet.”

  George shrugged, and she and Nancy headed out of the office. George left the theater and joined the picketers to begin to ask questions.

  Judging from the group of fans outside, Nancy figured Brady Armstrong was probably around the theater somewhere. They followed him wherever he went. Brady was the best source for information about Simon Mueller.

  Nancy found Brady in the auditorium, sitting in one of the front-row seats, looking dejected.

  “Hi, Nancy,” he said as she walked down the carpeted aisle toward him. “Any news?”

  “Nope, afraid not.”

  She sat down next to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came about two hours ago. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about Bess, so I decided to come and look for her.”

  He hung his head, and the golden glow from the wall sconces glittered in his dark hair. “I really feel responsible for what happened to her,” he added. “If she hadn’t been one of my fans—and if she hadn’t come to my room just to see me, she wouldn’t be missing right now. It’s pretty obvious the kidnapper was after me, not her.” He let out a long sigh.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Brady,” Nancy said. But even as she was speaking, she wondered if he really felt that bad. His own agent could be the kidnapper. Was Brady the nice guy that he appeared to be, or was this the image that Simon Mueller had shaped for the public?

  “I just wish that I could do something that would help,” he said.

  “Maybe you can,” she replied. “Would you answer some questions for me?”

  “I’ll try.” His green eyes sparkled eagerly.

  “It’s about Simon Mueller.”

  Suddenly the interest in his eyes died and he looked away. “What about Simon?” he asked distractedly.

  Nancy took a deep breath. She could tell it wasn’t going to be easy. “Do you think he would attempt a kidnapping as a publicity stunt?”

  “Why would you ask a thing like that?” Brady asked defensively.

  Nancy noticed how uncomfortable the question had made Brady. “Because he wasted no time in making the most of the opportunity.”

  Brady shrugged. “Simon’s a good agent and manager. He’s smart. That doesn’t mean he’s a kidnapper.”

  “That’s true,” she admitted.

  “Look, Nancy, I’m not going to say anything bad about Simon. He’s one of the best managers in the business, and I’m lucky he took me on as a client. He got me where I am today, and I’m not going to cross him in any way.” Brady set his lips in a firm line, obviously resolved not to support Nancy’s theory.

  “I understand,” Nancy said, sensing Brady’s mood and realizing she wasn’t going to get any more out of him about Simon Mueller.

  As though eager to leave, Brady stood and zipped up his leather jacket. “If you need anything else, just ask,” he said, but his eyes were still guarded.

  “Brady, just one more thing. Don’t give Simon too much of the credit for your success. You’re a very talented actor. You deserve to be at the top.”

  He smiled and said, “Thanks, Nancy. But the more I learn about this business, the more I realize it’s more complicated than that” Brady stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. “Still, thanks for the good words.” He turned and walked up the aisle toward the exit.

  Nancy sat there for a minute longer, thinking. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement on the stage. One of the red velvet curtains had rustled ever so slightly.

  Someone had been eavesdropping on their conversation.

  Quietly Nancy stood and walked to the front of the auditorium and up the steps to the stage. Straining to hear the sound of footsteps behind the red velvet curtain, she waited. Slowly she pulled the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the darkness of the stage area.

  She had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching her from the many black shadows.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, keeping her voice steady. No answer. Nancy felt a prickling along the back of her neck.

  She turned to leave the stage. She had taken only one step when, overhead, an enormous light started to fall.

  Nancy hit the stage floor and covered her head and face with her arms only a second before the light hit.

  In another second, she felt a shower of glass rain down on her in hundreds of sharp needles.

  Chapter

  Seven

  AS SOON AS SHE WAS sure that the glass had stopped flying around, Nancy scrambled to her feet. With her eyes closed, she carefully brushed the tiny slivers of glass from her body and hair. Some of the shards pricked at her hands and made them sting.

  Opening her eyes, Nancy looked around. But there was no one on the stage. Just herself and the shattered glass that glittered like tiny diamonds on the stage floor.

  She was moving down the stairs off the front of the stage when a deep male voice came over the PA system. It was distorted with a heavy reverberation.

  “That was only a warning, Ms. Drew,” the voice said. “If you want to see Bess Marvin again, you’d better not search for her any longer. If you persist, what happened just now was an indication of what you and your friend can expect.”

  Nancy whirled around and looked up over the rows of green seats to the sound booth, but it was dark and she couldn’t see who was talking.

  He was in there. In
the booth. Now she had a chance to catch him.

  Wasting no time, Nancy raced through the auditorium and out into the lobby. When she reached the stairs to the balcony, she took them two at a time. At the top she turned to the left and plunged into the small room that functioned as a sound booth.

  He wasn’t going to get away this time.

  But he already had. The room was empty.

  Whoever it had been had left the power on the soundboard. Six or seven tiny lights glowed like winking red eyes in the darkness.

  As Nancy stood there in that empty room, she could still feel the kidnapper’s presence. She was completely discouraged. He had been so close, within her grasp, but she had missed him.

  • • •

  Fifteen minutes later Nancy walked into the Tudor, a posh hotel just around the corner from the theater. She was going to find Simon Mueller and get some answers from him.

  She asked the front desk to ring his room, but Mueller didn’t answer. Stalled again, Nancy thought. But, no, that meant Mueller could have been the one who dropped the light in the theater.

  Just as she was about to leave the hotel, Nancy glanced through the large double doors to her left that led to the restaurant. She caught sight of a familiar head of copper red hair. Deirdre McCullough was sitting in a corner booth.

  Several teenagers were crowding around her table with autograph books and bits of paper in their hands. Nancy waited for Deirdre to finish with her fans. If she could have a minute alone with the girl, she might get further with her on the topic of Simon Mueller than she had with Brady.

  “Hi, Deirdre,” Nancy said as she walked over to the booth. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Deirdre gave Nancy a big smile. “Not at all.” She shoved her soft chocolate leather purse and jacket over so Nancy could sit down opposite her. Nancy noticed that the bag matched Deirdre’s jacket and skirt perfectly. Her beautiful coppery hair was set off by a ginger-colored silk blouse.

  “Actually, I love having the company,” Deirdre said after Nancy was settled and had ordered a glass of juice. “I was just sitting here thinking how much I miss my sisters and girlfriends back home in Los Angeles.”

  “How long have you been on the road?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh, this is just our first stop, with the movie premiering here and all,” she said. “I’ve been away from home for less than a week. I just get homesick really quickly. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I’ve been an actress since I was four years old.”

  Any other time Nancy would have been fascinated by this inside look at a famous actress, but that day she had other things on her mind.

  “I came to the hotel to talk to Simon,” Nancy said. She sensed Deirdre tightening up at the mere mention of Mueller’s name. “I asked the front desk to ring his room, but he didn’t answer. Have you seen him this morning?”

  “No,” Deirdre responded quickly. “No, I haven’t.”

  “And how about Brady? Have you seen him in the past half hour or so?”

  “Why do you ask?” Deirdre asked, lifting one delicate eyebrow. “Is Brady a suspect?”

  “I’m just trying to check everyone’s whereabouts,” Nancy said offhandedly.

  “I haven’t seen Simon or Brady since breakfast,” she said cautiously. “They were having a slight argument over their cereal and grapefruit, so I didn’t hang around. I hate it when they fight.”

  Nancy perked up instantly. “Does that happen a lot?”

  “More than I can stand. Simon is always pushing Brady to do things, and . . . ”

  Her voice faded and she looked as though she were afraid she had said too much already.

  “What kind of things does he want Brady to do?” Nancy prodded.

  “Oh, you know, publicity things. This morning Simon was telling Brady to ride around town in the limo.”

  “And Brady didn’t want to?”

  “No. Some stars thrive on attention, but Brady doesn’t like having girls scream and yell and faint at his feet. Sometimes they grab at him and rip his clothes. He hates that.”

  “And how about you, Deirdre? Do you thrive on attention, or do you hate it?” Nancy asked.

  Deirdre smiled, and Nancy was struck by how natural and easygoing she was. “I’m somewhere in between. I would probably be disappointed if I walked down the street and no one recognized me. But sometimes, like this morning, I just like to get away from all the fans and autograph hounds.”

  “And that’s why you’re sitting here?”

  Deirdre nodded.

  “They found you anyway.”

  “They always do,” she said with a slight shrug.

  “So, who won the argument this morning? Brady or Simon?” Nancy asked, sipping at the tall glass of orange juice the waitress had set down in front of her.

  “Brady, I think. He wanted to go back to the theater to look for your friend and—well, for old times’ sake.”

  “Old times’ sake?”

  Deirdre looked very uncomfortable, as though she had revealed something she hadn’t intended to. “Ah, yes. Brady has some . . . uh . . . memories of the place.”

  “What kind of memories?”

  “I don’t know. Just memories.”

  “Did he ever work in a community theater production there?”

  “I don’t know,” Deirdre said, suddenly quite agitated. “He might have. You’d actually know that better than I. Listen, I have to go now. I’ve got to get my hair done for a date that Simon has arranged for Brady and me this evening. Simon is determined that Brady and I act like an item for a while. You know, publicity and all.”

  Nancy’s curiosity was aroused. “Then you and Brady aren’t an item?” she asked.

  Deirdre smiled her breathtaking smile. “Brady’s a sweetheart, and I’m very fond of him. But there’s this hunk back in L.A. He’s the real reason I’m homesick.” She stood and draped her purse over her shoulder. “I suppose you’ll find out soon enough, but Simon has called a press conference for later this afternoon.”

  “Another one? Why?”

  “He’s going to offer a reward for information leading to the release of your friend.” Deirdre sighed. “I’d like to say it’s because Simon is such a wonderful human being, but . . . ”

  “You think it’s just another publicity gimmick,” Nancy offered.

  Deirdre hunched her shoulders and shook her head as though she were tired and slightly disgusted. “See you around, Nancy.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  As Nancy left the restaurant and walked through the hotel lobby she realized that the motive for his reward fit in perfectly with everything else she had learned about Simon Mueller.

  And perhaps the most disturbing bit of information was that Brady Armstrong might have a motive, too. He could have worked at the theater. Maybe he loved the old place also. But enough to stop it from being torn down?

  That’s stupid, Drew, she thought. Why would Brady engineer his own kidnapping and then not stop the “kidnapper” from taking the wrong person? It was impossible. Or was it?

  As Nancy was about to walk through the large revolving door out of the lobby, she heard her name being paged.

  “Ms. Nancy Drew. Pick up the courtesy phone, please.”

  She hurried to the white phone in the corner of the lobby. George was on the other end.

  “Nancy, you’ve got to get to the theater right away!” George sounded breathless.

  “What is it, George?”

  “We were right all along, Nan. Bess is still in the theater!”

  Chapter

  Eight

  WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND?”

  “Meet me in Joseph’s office. I’ll explain everything when you get here.” The sound of a dial tone told Nancy that George had hung up.

  Nancy wondered what her friend had found. To save time, she entered the theater through a back door and wound her way through the maze of hallways toward the front of the theater.

  As she walked past the stars’
dressing rooms, Nancy thought of the day when she had seen Bess knocking nervously on that door. Bess had looked so pretty in her new dress. And she had been so excited about the prospect of seeing the boy she had had a crush on four years earlier.

  Nancy couldn’t bring herself to dwell on it. What happened, happened. All that mattered now was rescuing Bess.

  As Nancy neared Joseph’s office, she heard voices, George’s and Joseph’s. They were discussing something in very excited tones.

  “Wait until Nancy gets here. She’ll be so excited to hear the news,” George was saying.

  “To hear what?” Nancy asked as she charged into the room. “What’s up?”

  “Joseph and I found the proof we need,” George said. “Come on.” Nancy followed George and Joseph as they led her around the auditorium and down the stairs that led to more dressing rooms.

  “Where are we going?” Nancy asked her friend.

  “Joseph and I were looking below the stage. First we heard a tapping noise, then what sounded like someone crying.”

  “Bess?” Nancy said.

  George nodded, and Nancy saw her friend’s eyes light up. “We thought it had to be her, so we went looking.”

  With a triumphant grin, George turned to Joseph. Nancy looked at him questioningly.

  “There’s a secret doorway here that leads straight into the orchestra pit,” he explained. To prove his point, Joseph opened a closet door and pushed a rackful of costumes aside, revealing a small door.

  Single file they passed through the narrow door and found themselves facing the open side of the orchestra pit.

  George led Nancy and Joseph to a row of doors that were parallel to the pit’s walls. “What are these rooms?” Nancy asked as her friend opened one of the doors into a tiny room no larger than six feet square.

  “These were the musicians’ warm-up rooms,” Joseph explained. “Members of the orchestra could warm up in these rooms before each performance.”

  “I checked them out myself last night,” George said as she neared the end of the row. “There wasn’t anything then. Now—look!”

  Nancy ran to the open door and peered inside. Joseph flipped the light switch, and a dim light came on.