034 Vanishing Act

by Carolyn Keene

  Chapter One

  "Nancy, get in here right away! The show's about to start!"

  Nancy Drew glanced at her watch. "I'm ten minutes early, Bess," she called out through the open window of her car, smiling. Nancy slid out of her Mustang and started toward her friend. Bess Marvin was standing in the doorway to her house, almost dancing with impatience.

  "Come on, come on!" she said as Nancy sauntered up the path. "George is already here. Do you want a soda or something? No, never mind. I'll get you one when there's a commercial. I don't want to miss even a second of this show."

  "Well, you're certainly not going to," George Fayne commented dryly as Nancy followed Bess into the living room. George was Bess's first cousin, and she and Bess were Nancy's two best friends. "You have time to get fifty sodas if you want. I'm glad you're here, Nancy. It's too much for one person to deal with Bess when she's like this."

  "I'm glad to be here, too," Nancy said. "I've been feeling lonely with Ned away."

  Ned Nickerson, Nancy's boyfriend, had returned to Emerson College earlier that day after a long weekend at home. Nancy was delighted when Bess had asked her over. Now she wouldn't have to spend the whole evening missing Ned.

  Bess wasn't listening to anything they were saying. "I just hope you programmed this thing right, George," she fretted, gesturing at the VCR. "This is one tape I have to have in my collection."

  "Bess, no one can see if you keep standing in front of the TV," said George. "Just sit down and relax. It's all going to be fine. You'll have your permanent record of Jesse Slade to put in your hope chest. Not that it'll do you any good— unless he suddenly returns one day."

  Bess sighed. "I still can't believe he's gone. My biggest idol—the greatest rock star in the world —gone. How could anyone have disappeared like that? Especially anyone so famous?"

  "I wasn't as big a fan of his as you were, but I do understand. It seems unreal to me, too," George said. "I can't believe three years have passed since he disappeared."

  Three years, Nancy thought. It did seem impossible. Three years before, Jesse Slade had been on the way to becoming the biggest rock star in the country. He'd been only nineteen then, but he had already cut two albums—composing all the music, writing all the lyrics, singing and playing, and producing. The first had gone gold, and the second platinum.

  Jesse Slade had also been the only rock musician in history to have six singles in a row reach number one on the charts. He'd won two Grammy Awards. And on top of that, he'd been gorgeous—with long dark brown hair, coal black eyes, and a sad, haunting smile that drove his fans wild.

  "He was talented, Bess—I'll give you that," George was saying now.

  "But I didn't like him because he was talented!'* Bess protested. "And not because he was so cute, either. It was just— Well, there was something about him," she finished helplessly.

  Nancy knew what Bess was trying to say. His talent and his looks weren't all that had made Jesse Slade so popular. He'd had a warm and intimate quality that made his songs seem as if they were a private conversation between each fan and himself. Jesse also made each fan feel as if he needed him or her.

  Then, at the height of his popularity, Jesse Slade had vanished—without a trace.

  No one knew how it had happened. Jesse and his band had been the main attraction at a huge outdoor concert on a beach in California. Jesse had been onstage for about forty minutes when he'd announced that he was going to take a short break.

  He'd never been seen again.

  The rest of the band was onstage when he'd disappeared. None of them had seen him vanish. Neither had anyone on the crew. And neither had any of the thousands of fans who'd been watching the concert. It seemed impossible—but he'd vanished and never come back.

  But he'd never been forgotten—not by his millions of loyal fans, and not by the music industry. Both of his albums were still in the Top 100, and not a day went by that he wasn't mentioned in the music press. He might have disappeared, but the mystery of his disappearance had kept his career alive.

  "It's even too much of a mystery for me," Nancy mused aloud. "I was just thinking about Jesse," she said in answer to George's quizzical look.

  The show the girls were going to watch that night would kick off a week-long celebration of Jesse Slade on TV Rock, a cable music-video station whose nickname was TVR. "Who's hosting the segment tonight, Bess?" Nancy asked, her thoughts returning to the present.

  "Dan Kennedy," answered her friend. "He's in charge of the whole week." Dan Kennedy was one of TVR's most popular veejays. "Tomorrow TVR's going to be interviewing the rest of the guys in Jesse's band, and the day after they'll go out to Jesse's hometown to talk to people who knew him when he was growing up. And they're going to play one of Jesse's songs every hour on the hour, and—"

  "And they're going to have a seance to try to find Jesse, aren't they?" George put in.

  "George!" Bess protested. "How can you joke like that?"

  "Well, how can you make such a fuss about a guy you've never met and never will get the chance to meet?" George countered. "I mean, I know he was incredible, and I've heard of longdistance love, but don't you think this is a little too long-distance? Like so long-distance it's nonexistent?"

  "Oh, you're just—Wait, it's starting!" Bess said excitedly. She plunked herself down in front of the TV. "George, hand me that brush. I have to look my best."

  "Right, Bess," George grumbled, but she gave her the brush anyway.

  The TVR logo flashed on the screen. "TV Rock!** an echoing voice boomed. "Where the party never stops-ops-ops-ops-ops—"

  "Oh, come on, get going!" said Bess. "We know it's TV Rock!"

  Then Dan Kennedy strolled in front of the camera and sat down. "Hi, teen angels," he said with a grin, pushing his curly blond hair out of his eyes. "Like the shirt? A crazed fan just handed it to me on my way in." He pointed down at his T-shirt, which said "Evil Picnickers Unlock Secrets of the Pyramids" in huge black letters dripping with red. "I don't know exactly what it means," Dan Kennedy went on. "Maybe you do. Send your suggestions to me, along with ten dollars. When I have enough money, I'll retire!" he finished brightly. "Then I can devote my time to figuring out what my clothes are trying to tell me.

  "Anyway"—Dan Kennedy's face became serious—"tonight marks the beginning of Jesse Slade Week. As most of you know, Jesse took off, or was taken off, or something, three years ago tonight. We're going to be remembering him at TVR this week—not that anyone who ever had anything to do with Jesse could really forget him. Tonight we're bringing you a very special tape of Jesse's last concert. TVR just uncovered it. It was thought to have been lost in a fire but was found mostly intact. We hope you'll be as moved by it as we were."

  There was a burst of guitar music, and onto the screen flashed a picture of Jesse Slade bent over his guitar. It cut to a shot of screaming fans leaping out of their seats at a concert, and then to another still of Jesse, vaulting through the air in one of the leaps that had been his onstage trademark.

  "Jesse Slade—the man, the musician, and the mystery," came Dan Kennedy's voice-over. "Will we ever know what happened to him?"

  "Nope," said George. Bess kicked her ankle.

  "On this night three years ago, Jesse Slade played his last concert," Dan continued. "Tonight, we're bringing you that concert again."

  The screen went to dark. At first Nancy wasn't sure what was happening. Then she realized that the screen was dark because the stage was dark. She could hear the occasional sounds of an expectant crowd—a catcall, throats clearing, a few bursts of applause. Then a tiny beam of light flashed onto the center of the stage.

  A drum began beating—slowly at first, then fast. The beam of light grew larger—larger— larger.
Now Nancy could see the huge outdoor stage that had been set up dramatically close to a cliff at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Behind the stage, a fading sunset was a background for the black water.

  Then Jesse Slade walked slowly to center stage —and the crowd went wild.

  "Show the fans!" George said. "I love footage of fans."

  As if in answer, the camera panned slowly over the crowd: a sweat-drenched boy waving a hand-painted sign that said "Jesse Forever"; a girl screaming hysterically and jumping up and down, tears of emotion streaming down her face; a forest of hands clapping rhythmically in the anas Jesse picked up a guitar and began the notes of his opening song.

  For the next half hour the three girls watched the screen in total silence. Jesse stepped forward and held up his hand. Gradually the crowd grew quiet.

  "I'm going to do one more," Jesse said, "and then I'm turning the stage over to my band for a while. They're pretty good, too, you know." There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd. "This one's from my first album," Jesse said, picking up his guitar. "I think most of you know it."

  And he began to play the first bars of "Goodbye, Sweet Life."

  Bess gasped, and a chill ran down Nancy's spine. "I'd forgotten that was the last song he played," Nancy said.

  "Me, too," Bess answered. "It's creepy, isn't it?"

  "Totally," said George. "It's almost as if he'd planned it or something. I wonder if. . ." Her voice trailed off, and the three girls fell silent again.

  "Goodbye, sweet life," Jesse sang.

  "You won't be missed . . .

  "It's much too late to cry. . . ."

  The crowd fell utterly silent for the next few minutes. Then, abruptly, the song ended. "See you in ten!" Jesse shouted jauntily as he strode off the stage to tumultuous applause.

  "And that's UT' George said. "He doesn't come back?"

  "No," Bess said sadly. "Well, I guess I'll get us a soda now. I don't care much about watching his band." Sighing, she pulled herself to her feet and went out to the kitchen.

  Nancy picked up a magazine and began idly leafing through it as Jesse's backup band began to play. She wasn't really interested in them, either. She put down the magazine as Bess strolled back into the room carrying a six-pack of diet soda. On the television screen, Jesse's bass player was jamming with his guitarist. "How about switching channels for a little while, Bess?" she said. "This is getting kind of—"

  Suddenly she broke off. What was that?

  A strange flicker of movement in one corner of the screen had just caught her eye.

  "What's the matter?" George asked.

  "Something at the back of the stage," Nancy answered. "See, in that corner—there. Wait! What's going on?"

  The back of the stage was dark and shadowy now. But Nancy was sure she wasn't imagining things.

  She'd just seen what looked like it could have been a body. It was hurtling over the cliff beside the stage!

  Chapter Two

  "Bess, stop the tape!" Nancy said excitedly. "Did you see that?"

  "See what?" Bess asked. "What are you talking about?"

  "I think I saw someone fall off the cliff! I have to check it again!"

  "That's impossible! Why would something like that happen during a concert? Anyway, I didn't notice anything. Can't it wait?" Bess asked. "I want to watch the end, And I want the whole tape, not just part of it."

  "Okay," Nancy agreed reluctantly. But she was so eager to check out what she'd seen that the rest of the show dragged for her. At last Dan Kennedy's face appeared on the screen again.

  "We'll have more tomorrow night on Jesse," he said. "Same time, same place, same Dan. And now, take a look at the new video by the Same, ours exclusively on TVR—"

  George leaned over and snapped off the TV. "Okay, Nan. What did you see?" she asked.

  Quickly Nancy rewound the tape to the point where she thought she'd seen the body fall. At first she couldn't find the exact footage. Maybe it was just my imagination, she thought. I can't—

  No. "There," she said breathlessly, pointing to the side of the screen. "See?"

  "I don't know," Bess said. "It's awfully blurry."

  For a second it looked as if the "body" teetered precariously at the cliff's edge. Then it plummeted and vanished into darkness.

  George drew a long breath. "If it is a body, why didn't TVR notice it before?" she asked.

  "I wouldn't have noticed it, either, if I had been really interested in the show," Nancy said. "Anyone watching would have missed it, I bet— the rest of the action's so distracting."

  "But if it is a body, it's horrible!" Bess said. "What are we going to do about it?"

  "What can we do?" George asked blankly. "It all happened three years ago, and if no one caught it then—"

  "But three years ago—" Bess broke off. "That was Jesse Slade's last concert, and he was never seen after that. What if—"

  "No!" George said. "That's impossible, Bess. If Jesse had fallen off a cliff, someone would have discovered his body."

  "We don't know that for sure," Bess insisted. "Nancy, don't you think it could be Jesse?"

  Nancy shook her head. "I think George is right, Bess. There'd have been no way to hide something like that."

  "But it all fits!" Bess said. "I bet someone murdered him! Nancy, this is your next case, I just know it! You've got to get in touch with TV Rock right away!"

  "Whoa!" Nancy said. "I can see it now." She picked up an imaginary phone. "'Hello, Dan Kennedy? I think I know what happened to Jesse Slade.' They'd never take me seriously, Bess. There's just not enough to go on!"

  "Okay. Okay," Bess said, tense. "But if they did take you seriously—if they asked you to investigate this—would you do it?"

  "I guess so," Nancy replied slowly.

  "Then it's all taken care of," Bess said resolutely. "You just leave this to me, Nan."

  Nancy couldn't help smiling a little. "Uh, Bess? How exactly are you going to take care of this?"

  "Oh, TVR will take me seriously. You'll see,"

  Bess answered. "Now, I think the best thing for you and George to do is go home and start packing."

  "Bess, I have to hand it to you," Nancy said two days later. "You're very persuasive."

  "I'll say," George chimed in. "If anyone had told me I'd be in Los Angeles today, I'd—well, it's hard to believe, anyway."

  Twenty-four hours earlier Nancy had gotten a phone call. At first she'd thought it was a joke— that the guy at the other end was some friend of Bess's who'd been asked to play a joke on her. But soon she realized that the caller really was Dan Kennedy. And he really had been calling to find out whether she'd take on this case.

  "I have to admit I'm intrigued by the whole thing, Mr. Kennedy," Nancy had said, "but I'm not totally sure there is a case to take on."

  "Call me Dan," he'd answered. "You may be right, Nancy. But I agree with your friend Bess. Jesse Slade disappears at the same concert where a body mysteriously falls off a cliff—well, it's too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. And I'm willing to fly you and your friends out here—and put you up at TVR's expense—if you'll agree to take a look around. I hear you're quite a detective. Bess told me about your work with Bent Fender, and I'm impressed."

  Bent Fender was a rock group whose lead singer, Barton Novak, had disappeared just minutes before a concert at Radio City Music Hall. The case had been one of Nancy's most challenging, but she had had more to go on then.

  "All right, Dan. I'll give it a try," Nancy said. "But don't you have to get some kind of okay on this?"

  "I'll get it okayed later. For now, I'll just put it on my expense account—and if there's a problem, I'll deal with it."

  "Well, that's generous of you," Nancy said. "I'll come out with my friends, but I can't make any promises. In fact, I hardly know where to start!"

  "Well, let me think about that. I'll try to come up with a few leads by the time you get here," said Dan. "And listen, Nancy—thanks."

  That
had been a day ago. Nancy had booked a flight for Los Angeles right after talking to Dan. She, Bess, and George had gotten on the plane that morning. They'd arrived just after lunch and rented a car at the L.A. airport. Now they were inching through a four-lane traffic jam toward the TVR studio.

  "This is an incredible car," Nancy said. "I've never rented one with a cellular phone and super-Sensurround stereo! All this and traffic jams, too? I guess we really are in California!"

  "If only I'd started my diet when I was supposed to," Bess said wistfully. "I mean, here we're going to be hanging out with rock stars— and I'm five stupid pounds overweight as usual. My one big chance, and I blew it!"

  "Bess, you look fine," George said. "How many times have we been over this before?" -

  "Besides, I bet there aren't going to be a lot of rock stars hanging around TVR," Nancy put in, glancing into the sideview mirror as she carefully changed lanes. "Videos of stars, yes. Stars, no."

  For a second Bess looked crestfallen. Then she brightened. "But the TVR veejays are almost like rock stars themselves. I can't wait to meet Dan Kennedy!"

  "Whoops!" was all Nancy answered. Honking wildly, a flame-colored Jaguar had abruptly cut in front of the girls' rental car. "This traffic's going to take some getting used to! Let's hope it's not like this all the time."

  An hour later Nancy pulled up in front of the three-story limestone building whose address Dan had given her. "Here we are," she said, climbing out and audibly sighing. "Boy, if that's how crowded it gets on the freeways, what's it like to drive on regular roads around here? Well, I guess we'll find out."

  She pushed the glass door open into a lobby that was nothing like any other lobby she'd ever seen. It was painted hot pink, and filled with giant plastic palms. In back of the receptionist's desk was a huge screen showing a constant stream of rock videos without the sound. And next to her desk was parked a gleaming silver Porsche with a sign on it that said "Drive Me."

  Even the receptionist looked perfectly suited to this place. No older than Nancy, she was wearing a hot pink rubberized dress, lime green stockings printed with tiny neon yellow polka dots, and electric blue high-top leather sneakers. On the black steel desk next to her typewriter was a tiny forest of palm trees just like the ones looming above her. She looked up expectantly as Nancy and her friends approached.