038 The Final Scene

by Carolyn Keene

  “Nancy, she was here!” George cried as she pointed out a rumpled pallet that lay bunched in the corner of the cubicle. “There’s her purse—and her shoe. We left them just the way we found them.”

  Nancy’s heart wrenched as she looked at the pump lying next to the mattress. When she remembered how Bess had complained about those new shoes, she felt like crying. But she fought back her tears as she knelt down on the rumpled pallet.

  Laying her hand on the blanket, she said, “She couldn’t have been gone for very long. It’s still a little warm. I can’t believe we came so close to finding her.”

  Joseph knelt down beside Nancy and placed his hand on her shoulder. “At least the kidnapper has been feeding her,” he said, pointing to a half-eaten pizza that lay in a box on the floor beside the pallet. Next to the box were three empty soda cans.

  George laughed, but the sound was hollow and bitter. “Something’s wrong with Bess,” she said grimly.

  “Why do you say that?” Nancy asked.

  “Because if Bess was her normal self, she would never have left half that pizza uneaten. It’s pepperoni and mushroom.”

  “Come on,” Nancy said. “Let’s go to the office and call Detective Ryan. He needs to know about this.”

  • • •

  Early that evening the girls were standing in the theater auditorium. After Nancy had called Detective Ryan, he had brought his squad out to search the theater once again.

  After a grueling three-hour search, they still hadn’t found anything. Finally the police left, advising the girls to give up and go home.

  But neither Nancy nor George could pull themselves away.

  “Why didn’t I find Bess when I searched that room yesterday?” George asked as she leaned back against the edge of the stage and massaged her aching back. “I swear she wasn’t there then.”

  “I’m sure she wasn’t,” Nancy answered, stretching her legs out in front of her. “The kidnapper must be moving her constantly. She could be right under our noses and we wouldn’t even know it.”

  “Well, we know he moved her just before I went into that room today, because the pallet was still slightly warm. I wonder where Simon Mueller and Nicholas Falcone were then?”

  “I was thinking that myself,” Nancy replied. “So when I came up to the office to phone the police, I called them, too.”

  “And?”

  “And neither of them answered his phone. Brady and Deirdre were gone, too. Not that I suspect them, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to check.”

  “It has to be Simon,” George said with conviction. “Nicholas and Brady wouldn’t do something like this.”

  “I’d like to think so, too,” Nancy said. “But someone is moving Bess all over this theater. And whoever it is must know the place pretty well.”

  “Simon Mueller doesn’t know the building,” George said. “So, if it is him, he would have to have an accomplice. Joseph told me that Brady worked here in community theater productions in the summers when he was in junior high school. Joseph said that was when Brady first developed an interest in acting.”

  Nancy twisted a lock of her reddish blond hair around her forefinger. “What if Simon set it up? And Brady, because of his loyalty to Simon, went along with the stunt, never dreaming that anyone else would become involved and hurt by it?”

  “By the time Simon grabbed Bess, it would be too late for Brady to back out,” George added.

  “Exactly.”

  “And it would be hard for Brady to come forward now that he’s an accessory.”

  “That’s all possible,” Nancy said, still thinking. “But then, too, it could be Nicholas Falcone. Did you see the way he was looking around this place? Like someone he loved was about to die.”

  “He’s very loyal to his grandfather. And he seemed uncomfortable when you questioned him, Nancy.”

  “I noticed,” Nancy answered. Her eyes wandered around the auditorium. Then, tensing, she looked carefully at the stage.

  “What is it?” George whispered. “What do you see?”

  “Do you remember when I told you about the light that fell?” Nancy said quietly.

  “Sure.”

  “Well, just before I walked up on stage, I saw the curtains moving, as though someone were eavesdropping on the conversation I was having with Brady.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure I just saw the curtains move again. Keep talking.”

  George feigned a yawn. “I’m getting pretty tired,” she said loudly. “Do you suppose we should take Detective Ryan’s advice and go on home?”

  Nancy’s sharp eyes caught the slightest ripple of movement in the stage right curtain.

  “There’s someone there for sure,” she whispered. Then, louder for the listener’s benefit she added, “We might as well go home and get some sleep. If she was here, we would have found her.”

  “Come on,” George said. “Let’s go.”

  The girls walked casually in front of the stage and orchestra pit toward the left.

  “Should we go out the front door?” George asked, projecting her voice.

  “I think Joseph already locked it. Besides, my car is parked in the alley. Let’s take this side exit.”

  Nancy walked over to the side door, opened it, and let it close loudly, hoping the eavesdropper would think they had left.

  She and George waited several quiet, tense moments beside the door.

  “I saw the curtain move again,” George whispered, her mouth close to Nancy’s ear.

  “Where?”

  “Over on the far side of the stage.”

  Nancy nodded. “Come on.”

  Silently they crept up the stairs leading to the stage. Their sneakered feet made no sound on the thick, dark green carpeting. They slid behind the red velvet curtain and waited a second for their eyes to adjust.

  A dark figure slipped behind an old scenery drop, and the girls silently followed, being careful to stay in the shadows. They trailed him through a maze of ladders, curtains, and props left over from the last community theater production.

  “What’s he doing?” George whispered when the figure paused at the foot of a ladder attached to the back wall.

  “He’s climbing up to the catwalk,” Nancy said, pointing out the narrow metal grid that was about four feet out from the back wall and forty or fifty feet off the stage floor.

  “I’ll go after him.” George was always ready for an athletic challenge.

  “I’ll wait down here and guard the other ladder, in case he decides to come down there,” Nancy said. She took her position up behind the trunk of a giant prop pine tree.

  Her heart pounded as she watched the man make his way across the catwalk until he was almost directly over her head. At the other end, almost fifty feet away, George was climbing up after him.

  They had him trapped, whoever he was! In the darkness Nancy couldn’t identify him. He seemed to be of medium height and build, wearing nondescript dark clothing. He was nimble footed and seemed at ease as he crossed the narrow, suspended walkway.

  When he reached the other end, almost directly over Nancy’s head, he stopped and knelt down. He was working on something. Nancy strained her eyes to see what he was doing, but there wasn’t enough light.

  She scanned the walk, looking for George. She had made it almost halfway across. What was she up to? Nancy wondered with a sharp pang of concern.

  George wasn’t going to confront him up there on the catwalk, was she?

  While Nancy’s mind raced, trying to decide what to do next, the man continued to kneel and work.

  Suddenly Nancy realized the man had known all along that they were following him. He had deliberately lured George up onto the catwalk.

  And just as quickly, Nancy figured out what he was doing.

  “George, get down from there!” she screamed. “Get down! Hurry!”

  But her warning came too late.

  The man leapt and landed o
n the ladder against the back wall. In a flash he disappeared down the rungs.

  Nancy watched as the catwalk beneath George’s feet trembled as though it were being blown by a strong wind.

  Nancy heard her friend scream.

  As Nancy gazed in horror the catwalk started to collapse and fall, bringing George down to the concrete floor forty feet below.

  Chapter

  Nine

  GEORGE!” Nancy raced across the stage. She saw George thrust out an open hand and grab one of the metal grids as she was tossed off the collapsing bridge. She was dangling by the fingertips of her right hand from the metal catwalk that was bouncing up and down like a diving board. Only one end was bolted to the wall now.

  “I’m barely holding on!” George yelled. “I’m slipping! Can you get me down?”

  Nancy jumped for the end of the walk, which hung above her head, but she couldn’t reach it.

  “What’s going on here?” a male voice behind Nancy shouted. From out of nowhere Nicholas Falcone appeared, Joseph right behind him.

  “It’s George!” Nancy yelled, pointing up at her friend. “She’s going to fall!”

  “I’ll get her!” Nicholas said. He leapt for the end of the walk, and Nancy watched as he pulled himself hand over hand up the dangling catwalk grids.

  “I’m on my way, kid!” he called up to her. “Hang on.”

  When Nicholas reached George, he braced himself well and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist.

  “Okay, I’ve got you,” he said, “and I’m not going to let go. Reach your hand through here and get a secure hold with both hands.”

  Nancy held her breath as George managed to work her way hand over hand down the sloping walkway. “That’s it, George,” Nancy said, encouraging her.

  Nicholas carefully followed her down again. In less than a minute they were both jumping the last fifteen feet to safety.

  Nancy was waiting for them when they reached the floor. She threw her arms around her friend. “I was worried there for a bit,” she said.

  “Me, too.” George wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her rugby shirt. When she turned from Nancy to hug her rescuer, Nancy caught a look of gratitude and adoration in George’s eyes.

  “That was a fine job of climbing you did there, son,” Joseph said, pounding Nicholas on the back. “You picked a fine time to take a break from the picket line.” Then Joseph turned to George. “I’m glad he got you down in one piece, young lady. But I want to know right now what you were doing up there.”

  “We were chasing the kidnapper,” Nancy said, coming to George’s defense.

  “The kidnapper?” Nicholas and Joseph exclaimed in unison.

  “At least we think that’s who it was,” Nancy added. “We were here in the auditorium and saw some movement behind the curtain. George followed the eavesdropper up the catwalk, but he unbolted it and made one end fall while she was on it.”

  “Sounds like the kidnapper is playing hardball now,” Nicholas said, smoothing his dark hair back into place.

  George watched the gesture with rapt attention, and Nancy sighed to herself. Her friend had liked Nicholas all along, but now she owed him her life.

  Nancy studied Nicholas as he, George, and Joseph continued to discuss the accident. She knew that she should be grateful to him for saving George’s life. And she was. But she couldn’t help being suspicious. Although she hadn’t gotten a close look at that shadowy figure, Nicholas was about the right height and weight. And he was wearing dark clothing, too.

  So, he had left the picket line at the right moment, she thought. Could Nicholas have collapsed the catwalk, only to risk his own life to rescue George? Maybe it had been his way of throwing suspicion off himself. She couldn’t help remembering how nimbly he had moved as he had climbed up to save George.

  As she watched George gaze up at Nicholas with gratitude shining in her eyes, Nancy knew that if she had any more doubts about Nicholas Falcone, she had better keep them to herself.

  • • •

  When Nancy and George stepped into the Tudor Hotel a little while later, they had no trouble finding Simon Mueller’s press conference. He and Brady and Deirdre were in the middle of the hotel lobby surrounded by at least a dozen reporters and as many photographers.

  Brady and Deirdre were dressed in evening clothes and made a stunning couple. Brady wore a winter white wool suit that contrasted handsomely with his dark good looks. Deirdre’s red hair glistened against her black, beaded gown.

  Apparently they were getting ready to go out on the “date” that Simon had fixed up. Nancy noticed that they were playing their parts well as they looked deeply into each other’s eyes.

  Simon Mueller stood a foot off to the side, merrily chatting, a broad smile on his face. He was obviously pleased with his stars’ performances.

  “I’m glad Bess isn’t here to see this,” George commented as Brady leaned down and gave Deirdre a quick kiss. “She’d be eating her heart out.”

  “They’re only acting,” Nancy said. “Deirdre told me this morning that she has a boyfriend in Los Angeles. This whole romance thing was Simon’s idea.”

  Nancy and George stayed at the back of the crowd and watched as Brady and Deirdre answered questions and signed autographs.

  Finally Simon said, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I hate to interrupt our lovebirds, but we have a serious matter to discuss here.”

  Nancy and George listened while Mueller announced the reward that Brady’s studio was offering for Bess’s safe return. He played the role of philanthropist to the hilt.

  “You’d think the money was coming out of his own pocket,” George remarked dryly.

  Nancy didn’t answer her. She was watching Simon’s movements as he made his way through the crowd. He was a large man, a bit overweight, and while he wasn’t clumsy, he didn’t move like an athlete either. Nancy just couldn’t see him running around on that catwalk.

  Then Nancy spotted Brenda Carlton, a local River Heights reporter. Brenda was more than a little spoiled and difficult. She and Nancy had locked horns more than once, but Nancy always tried to be civil to her.

  “Let’s say hello to Brenda,” Nancy said, dragging George in her direction.

  “Why?” George asked, confused. “She’s one person I really don’t feel like talking to right now.”

  “Because,” Nancy explained, “Brenda has eagle eyes, and it’s just possible she could give us a lead or two on whether or not Simon and Brady were around the hotel when the kidnapper set that catwalk trap.”

  “Good thinking, Nan,” George said with a smile.

  Nudging their way through the crowd, Nancy walked over to Brenda. “Hi, Brenda,” she said.

  “Well, hello, Nancy, hello, George,” Brenda said. “It’s just awful about your cousin,” she continued, trying to sound sympathetic. “I can’t believe she still hasn’t been found.”

  The idle tapping Brenda was making with her pen on her notebook while she kept an eye on Brady and Deirdre told Nancy how little Brenda really cared about Bess.

  “Brenda,” she said sweetly, “I just got here. Has this media event been going on long?”

  Brenda shook her head. “No, it just started. It was scheduled to begin almost an hour ago, but Brady was late. He and his agent were out. They returned to the hotel just a few minutes ago and had to rush upstairs to change.”

  Brenda laughed as she gave Brady an admiring glance. “It was the quickest clothes change I’ve ever seen. From casual to gorgeous in four minutes.”

  Nancy looked over at George, and their eyes met in a meaningful exchange.

  “Excuse me,” Brenda said, standing on tiptoe to look over Nancy’s shoulder at Brady. “You’re blocking my view.”

  “Sorry,” Nancy said. Taking George’s arm, Nancy led her to a quiet corner behind some feathery palms that were planted in a marble urn. “So, Simon and Brady were out of the hotel when you were dangling from that catwalk,” Nancy said. “Interes
ting.”

  George peered through the palms at Brady, who was putting his arm around an elderly lady’s shoulders while the woman’s husband took a picture.

  “Just look at Brady,” George said. “I can’t believe he’d kidnap Bess or knock a catwalk out from under me. It has to be Simon. Look at him. Would you buy a used car from that man?”

  Nancy studied Simon through the palm fronds, taking in his prissy, overly neat clothes. “Are you sure it isn’t his taste in clothes that you object to?” she teased.

  “It’s his shifty, beady little eyes. But that tie doesn’t help.”

  “Are you two hiding back here?” asked a woman’s voice.

  They turned around to see Brenda Carlton eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “You’d be surprised what you can find out while lurking behind a palm tree,” Nancy said, laughing a little.

  “Thanks for the tip.” Brenda chewed thoughtfully on her pencil. “Tell me, what do you think about this so-called kidnapping attempt?”

  “You sound as though you don’t believe it,” Nancy answered carefully.

  “Well, considering Simon Mueller’s track record, it’s a little difficult to swallow. The man has cried wolf too many times to be taken seriously.”

  “What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

  “You mean you don’t know about Simon Mueller’s other ‘kidnappings’?”

  Nancy could see that Brenda was wrestling with her desire to tell her all she knew versus her natural stinginess with information. “I’m surprised you don’t know, Nancy. You’re always on top of everything. Brady is the third star of Mueller’s to have this particular ‘problem.’ The first was five years ago. One of Mueller’s young starlets was snatched. Two days later she turned up safe and sound with some half-baked story about how she subdued her kidnappers and escaped.”

  “Oh, really?” Nancy said thoughtfully as she watched Simon whisper something into the ear of a reporter.

  “And last year,” Brenda continued, “another of Mueller’s clients, an old silver-screen star who was trying to make a comeback, said that three men broke into her home and tried to grab her. The police proved her story was false, but they chalked it up to her age.”