038 The Final Scene (5 page)

“This is a funeral wreath!” she said. “Who sent this?” she asked, her voice tight with tension.

“I don’t know,” the boy said. “There was an envelope shoved under the shop door. It had some money in it and instructions about what kind of wreath to send, where, and when. I had to take it home with me and deliver it tonight.”

“Look, Nancy,” Hannah said. “There’s a card with it, too.” She pointed to a dark purple envelope that stuck up from the middle of the wreath.

Nancy plucked the card from the flowers and ripped the envelope open.

Everyone leaned over her shoulder as Nancy read the big block letters out loud.

I don’t want to hurt the girl. But if the Royal Palladium dies, she will be killed, too.

The next morning Nancy couldn’t stop thinking about that funeral wreath as she and George made their way past a small group of teenagers who had come to the theater hoping to catch a glimpse of their beloved Brady.

Nancy quickly scanned the line of picketers to her right, and she saw that Nicholas wasn’t with them this morning.

Could
he
have sent that wreath? He had to be her number-one suspect because he had the strongest motive. But then, too, Simon Mueller had had the studio eliminate two stops on his stars’ tour so they could remain in River Heights longer to capitalize on the publicity.

The security guard who was posted at the door allowed the girls to pass without question. He recognized them from the day before. As they entered the lobby, they saw Joseph Hughes polishing the brass handrail on the staircase up to the balcony.

Nancy’s heart went out to him. The building
was scheduled to be torn down in two days, but he was still giving the place its usual care.

“Good morning, Joseph,” she said.

He looked up from his work. “Good morning, young ladies,” he said. “Heard anything new about Bess?”

“No,” George replied. “We were hoping maybe you had.”

“Not a thing. I slept in the office all night. Hoped maybe that fellow would call again and I could talk him into letting her go. But nobody called or came by.”

“Thanks for staying, Joseph,” Nancy said. “You’re a good friend.”

Nancy was about to look for Detective Ryan when Joseph stopped her with a raised hand.

“You know, I can’t believe it, but I almost forgot to give you this.” He reached into his pocket. “Last night when I was vacuuming in the leading lady’s dressing room I found something on the floor. I don’t know if it belongs to Bess or not.”

He pulled something out of his pocket that caught the light and glistened like a miniature chandelier.

George gasped. “Oh, Nancy!” she said. “It’s Bess’s rhinestone earring!”

S
HE’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.

A
S 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.