Ghost of a Chance (2 page)

“And anything we might need,” Gene chimed in.

“The main thing to realize is that moviemaking isn't as glamorous as most people think,” Lloyd pointed out. “It's mostly a waiting game. Hours of sitting around and waiting, and then a few minutes of work and intense concentration.”

“None of us is on call every day,” Gene said. “If you're not needed for wrangling, feel free to sign up as acting extras. That can be fun.”

The four worked and trained the rest of the morning and afternoon. They were preparing for an evening shoot at a location set farther up the mountain. When they finished, Gene and Lloyd took Gus back to his traveling trailer, while Frank and Joe went to the barn next to it.

“This is a perfect setup,” Frank said to his brother. Part of the film was being shot in the tiny mountain town of Crosscook and the surrounding countryside. So the movie studio had set up headquarters there.

The cast and crew stayed in town, in private homes, inns, and elaborate RVs. The animal wranglers and other stunt crew, security personnel, and administration staff stayed in small steel prefabricated houses that the studio had brought in and set up at the edge of town. All together the houses looked like an army barracks or a small campground.

“It is a perfect setup,” Joe agreed. “The animals have their own familiar traveling trailers. And we've got this old barn to store the equipment and feed.”

“And to use for rehearsing,” Frank added as he watched Gene walk Gus up a ramp into the bear's trailer. Omar's trailer was parked nearby.

The Hardys packed the food that would be given to Gus while he worked. Then they walked about thirty yards from the barn and trailers to the house that the wranglers and the Hardys shared. At four-thirty they all changed into fresh jeans and shirts and began packing up for the short drive farther up the mountain.

“We've learned to take both trucks,” Lloyd told them. “Gene and I will drive one and pull Gus's trailer. You two take the other.”

Frank drove the second wrangler truck, following Gene out of the compound and up the mountainside.

They arrived at the location set in a large clearing in the mountain forest. At one end of the
clearing was the plane crash set. On another section of the location was a copy of the isolated cabin where Jumper had supposedly hidden out for years. The shoot that evening would focus on scenes of Jumper's daughter searching for her father.

The wranglers parked their vehicles. While Gene checked on Gus, Lloyd showed the Hardys around. When they reached the edge of a ravine, they saw a man in a blue jumpsuit adjusting an elaborate rigging hanging from a crane.

“Terry!” Lloyd yelled. “I heard you were going to be on this shoot. Great working with you again.”

The man left the crane setup and walked over. He appeared to be in his late twenties and had the compact, muscular body of a trained athlete. He had large dark eyes and was completely bald.

“Frank, Joe, this is Terry Lavring, one of the greatest stunt masters you'll ever work with,” Lloyd said.

“Nice to meet you,” Terry said. “Lloyd, you look scratched and bruised as usual. Where's Gene?”

“He's getting our bear settled,” Lloyd said. “At least my wounds come from a reasonable source—a wild animal. Yours all happen because you insist on setting yourself on fire or jumping off buildings or whatever.”

“Hey, once a chute cowboy, always a chute cowboy,” Terry said, shrugging his shoulders.

“That's a stuntman who started out by jumping with parachutes,” Lloyd explained to the Hardys.

“Now Terry's a master,” Gene said, joining them. “Designs and creates incredible illusions.”

“A true master,” a familiar voice said. Everyone turned to see the beautiful face of Cleo Alexander. She gazed at them with large blue eyes, a surprising color because her hair, a short curly cap, was very dark brown.

Terry introduced everybody. “I'm sure you know this young lady from her Olympic gymnastic glory days and her two sports films. I've worked with her, and I'm telling you she's going to be a real movie star. And this is the film that will do it. She's playing Jumper's daughter, who goes to search for her dad when she's grown. Wait till you see what she's going to do. It'll knock you dead.”

Cleo flashed a huge sparkling smile. “I hate to interrupt you all, but I really need to talk to you about the stunt, Terry.” She seemed nervous.

“No problem,” the stunt master said. “Okay, everybody—talk to you later.”

The Hardys and the wranglers left Terry and Cleo and strolled around the set. “She's the one in the scene with Gus, right?” Joe asked.

“Yep,” Gene answered. “The script has Gus chasing her. Let's get the fence coil unloaded. We need one of you to give us a hand.”

“I'll do it,” Joe offered.

“Have I got time to look around?” Frank asked.

“Sure,” Lloyd said. “We've got about an hour before we need to set up.”

Frank took a trail up the mountain to an observation area where others were seated on logs and benches. He looked back down on the clearing. The mountainside teemed with the activity of preparing for a movie shoot.

“It's amazing, isn't it?” a woman about forty years old said, plopping down next to him. “This is my fourth movie, and I never get tired of it.”

“Are you an actress?” Frank asked, then introduced himself.

“Oh, my, no,” she said. “I'm Sassy Leigh, a folklore professor at a college not far from here. I'm a consultant on the film because I'm considered sort of an expert on the legend of Jumper Herman.”

Sassy was a pretty woman. She had a mane of hair streaked with several colors of dark red and gold. Her green eyes stared intently at Frank, as if she were trying to figure out
his
legend.

“I've read only a little about him,” Frank said. “What's your expert conclusion about what happened?”

“Well, there are certainly lots of theories,” Sassy said. “Some think Jumper survived and has been happily mocking the international authorities ever since.

“One of the most popular rumors has Jumper
meeting his fate with the Great Smoky Mountains version of Bigfoot,” Sassy continued.

“There's a Smokies Bigfoot?” Frank asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “They've had lots of sightings hereabouts.”

“He's been written into the script, I'll bet,” Frank said.

“Of course,” Sassy said, smiling proudly. “I helped write that part.” She smoothed the green sweater she wore over her jeans.

The sun dropped into the mist clinging to the blue-green ridge beyond, and the temperature seemed to drop a degree every minute.

“Well, I'd better get back to—” Frank's words stopped in his throat as a high scream tore through the cool mountain air from the set below.

Sassy's head whipped around. “What was that?” she asked. She sounded scared.

“Let's find out,” Frank said. He and Sassy headed back down the trail with everyone else who had been sitting around them. After a few yards Frank left the crowd and raced through the meadow grass and mountain scrub that skirted the dense forest.

When he reached the forest that stood between him and the set, he decided to run around it. It was getting darker and he knew the dense forest could be a mazelike trap.

As he ran along the edge of the forest, a peculiar
smell drifted toward his nostrils. It was a sour, gamy, sweaty odor. Whew, Frank thought as the odor grew stronger. Smells like a cross between a zoo and the gym after a really rough basketball practice.

He could hear shouts ahead on the set. He stepped up his pace, running beside the huge trees. But he was distracted again by the odd smell and by a rustling from inside the forest. He decided that something must be running through the trees—running in the same direction he was, but four or five yards away on a parallel path.

He looked to his left, squinting to get a better view into the darkness of the forest. There were lots of shadowy shapes in there, and some of them seemed to move. And lots of crackling, whistling, whining sounds. Were they made by tree branches bending in the wind, Frank wondered. Or maybe the family of deer he had seen earlier bounding across the meadow?

It was the sudden rush toward him that caught him off guard—the huge form bursting from between two trees. Frank didn't have a chance. There was no warning, no time for defense. A beefy arm swung out of the large smelly mass in a huge arc.

The sour, gamey smell thickened the air. Frank felt the heavy arm slam into his chest, leveling him with one powerful backhand blow.

Frank landed on his side and rolled a couple of times. Dazed, he watched his attacker run into the forest. He could barely make out the hulking shape.

He pulled himself to his knees and gasped for a breath of putrid air. After shaking his head a few times, he stood up and headed on toward the set at a slow trot.

“Frank!” Sassy called from behind. “Wait a minute. What happened?” she asked when she reached him. “Did you trip or something? I saw you get up.”

“You didn't see me hit the ground?” Frank asked as they kept going. “You didn't see whoever—or whatever—it was that decked me?”

“What are you talking about?” Sassy asked. She sounded a little breathless, maybe from trying to keep up with Frank. “Someone knocked you down?”

They finally reached the edge of the location set. “Mmm-hmmm,” Frank mumbled. Ahead, he spotted Joe and Lloyd. He really didn't want to get into a big conversation with Sassy right then. He wanted to find out who screamed—and why.

“There you are!” Joe said when Frank and Sassy joined them.

“What happened?” Frank asked. “We heard someone scream and got here as fast as we could.” He decided to tell Joe about his attacker later.

“It was Cleo,” Joe said, nodding toward the pretty young star. They watched as she paced back and forth. Cleo's personal assistant, Carmen, paced with her, and a small group of cast and crew members stood around, whispering to one another. Sassy wandered over toward the others.

“We don't know exactly what happened,” Joe said in a low voice as he, Frank, and Lloyd sidled over toward Cleo. “That's the director, Dustin Bird, with her now.”

Frank watched as the director started talking to Cleo. Dustin Bird was about sixty years old,
dressed in jeans, a denim shirt, and a baseball cap. He had a rich British accent. “Come on, Cleo,” Dustin said. “It's just a stupid joke. You know—everyone keeps talking about how this shoot is jinxed. Someone's just acting on the rumors, trying to rattle you, that's all.”

“Well, it's working!” Cleo said, glaring at Dustin. She clenched and unclenched one hand over and over. As she resumed pacing again, a small wad of paper tumbled out of her hand.

As if he were picking up a grounder in left field, Joe scooped up the crinkled paper and stepped away with it. Turning his back, he smoothed the note and read it quickly.

Frank read over his brother's shoulder. The message was short and to the point. “Get out of this movie. Your life is in danger!”

Joe wadded up the note again and took it to Cleo. “You dropped this,” he said.

Cleo gave Joe a shaky smile. “Thanks,” she said. She started to stuff it into a leg pocket of her cargo slacks but stopped abruptly, glancing at the others.

“Did you all hear this?” she asked, her voice agitated. She read the note aloud. Several people gasped and some actually appeared afraid. Others chuckled.

“Cleo,” Dustin said. “I'm telling you it's just a gag. Someone from publicity probably wrote it. It's
good for business if we've got a threat in the news.”

“Do you have any idea who wrote the note?” Frank asked Cleo. He and Joe moved closer. Carmen put an arm around Cleo's shoulders.

“No,” Cleo said. “But whoever it was, he'll be sorry,” she added.

“Where did you find the note?” Frank asked. “Was it delivered to your RV?” He knew that major stars had their own RVs when they went on location. The vehicles were personal retreats for the stars, somewhere they could go when they weren't needed for a particular scene.

“Yes,” Cleo said, nodding at Frank. “I was over in makeup, and when I got back to my RV, this note was stuck under my door.”

“Are you sure you don't know the handwriting?” Carmen asked.

Cleo's answer was cut off by Dustin. “Okay, that's it,” he said. “Enough questions, enough excitement.”

He took Cleo's hand and led her away. “Come on, dear,” he said in a soothing voice. “Let's have some tea. I want you a little agitated for the next scene, but not hysterical.” Carmen followed closely.

“Well,” Frank said. “It looks like there's more going on here than we thought.”

“Yeah,” Lloyd added. “The movie plot isn't the only mystery around here.”