038 The Final Scene (6 page)

“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!”

W
HAT 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.

“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.