Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) (4 page)

Suddenly, Joe came out of nowhere. He leapt onto the stage and landed in a roll, which took him directly to Claire. He reached her feet and bowled right over her, knocking her to the ground and safely out of the way.

“Phew,” I let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. I peeled my fingers off the railing. My knuckles were white with fear. Talk about hitting the ground running.

Suddenly Joe called out from below.

“Nancy Drew? What are you doing here?!”

CHAPTER
4

JOE

COLD FEET

It took a second for me to come to my senses, what with the whole burning plane/fear of death thing. Struck dumb with surprise, I stared at the girl beneath me. The photos from ATAC hadn’t done her justice. Aside from her dark hair, Claire Cleveland was a dead ringer for Nancy Drew!

“Are you going to help me up, or what?” said Claire, who had managed to turn “collapsed on the ground in a heap” into a model-like pose. All around us, the backup dancers were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to get away from the dangling airplane above us. “Who’s this Nancy girl? And who are you?”

“I’m Joe,” I said. “Joe Hardy.” I helped Claire to her feet. She smiled warmly at me.

“Jojo Hardy? What an interesting name.” Claire stared directly into my eyes as she spoke, and I almost blushed.

“No, it’s—it’s Joe. Just Joe.”

“Joe Just Joe?” Claire’s eyes twinkled, and I realized she was teasing me. “You’re cute. Nancy’s a lucky girl.”

“What? I mean … thank you. But no, she’s not. I mean, she is, but she isn’t my—”

“Is everyone okay?” Frank appeared at my side, which helped me pull my foot out of my mouth.

I nodded, still a little tongue-tied. All around us, people were hustling to lower the plane to the ground. Frank had put out the flames, and someone else had stopped it from moving, but it was still tons of metal dangling from a few tiny wires. I guided Nancy—I mean, Claire—offstage, as Frank moved to help two stagehands with the plane.

“Are you hurt?” I asked Claire.

She checked herself quickly. Up close, Claire looked young and sweet. But when I met her eyes, I could tell she was pretty tough. The whole incident didn’t seem to have fazed her at all.

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. She patted her costume down. “But if I tore any of this, my dresser Jason is going to kill me.”

She paused for a second, then shot me a cold look
that was a million miles away from the smiley, bubbly expression she’d just been wearing.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, edging back from me subtly. “Who are you?”

I didn’t blame her for being suspicious. If I had that many crazy fans outside, I’d be nervous too. Nah, who am I kidding—if I had that many fans, I’d be out celebrating. But I understood where her fear was coming from. Most people weren’t used to defying death on a daily basis. Luckily, it was one of my hobbies.

“Don’t worry, we’re your new bodyguards,” I told Claire in a whisper.

Her smile returned. “Finally!” she said. “I told Linden if he didn’t hire someone, I would—and he’d be paying either way. You’re much cuter than the last bodyguards I had.”

I was really starting to like this girl.

“You should be getting hazard pay for this,” I joked.

The smile on Claire’s face intensified. “Hazard pay? That’s a brilliant idea. Excuse me, I have to call my agent.”

Claire pulled a cell phone from her pocket and stepped farther into the wings.

I heard a man groan from the other side of the stage. “Great! Looks like we’ll be renegotiating her contract. Again. And we have to replace another plane! Damien! Where are you?”

A tall blond man strode toward me. He was suave and well dressed. I’d noticed him from the corner of my eye as I’d run to the stage. He looked exactly like the photo ATAC had showed us.

“Linden von Louden,” he said, grabbing my hand in a manly shake. “The producer of this …” he paused for a minute, as if trying to decide what to call it. “Show,” he finished eventually.

“Joe Hardy,” I said. I was about to mention my cover story—that Frank and I were aspiring high school students who wanted to work on Broadway shows, and we’d won a competition to watch Wake develop in its last week. Often, our local contacts couldn’t remember who we were supposed to be, even when they’d invented the cover story. I didn’t want him to slip up and identify us as members of ATAC in front of all these people.

“Ah, our contest winners! We’ve been waiting for you,” Linden responded smoothly. Looked as if Claire wasn’t the only decent actor on this stage. I was impressed. He leaned in toward me. “You look just like the headshots—I mean photos—ATAC sent over. If you ever get tired of undercover work, give me a call. I know a role that’d be perfect for you.” He slipped a business card into my hand.

“Uh, thanks?” I was a little taken aback. I mean, my model good looks are pretty stunning, but didn’t you
need to be able to act to get on Broadway? “That’s my brother, Frank.” I pointed over to the tight huddle of techie types who were gathered around the plane.

“And that’s my sister, Laurel,” Linden jerked his thumb back behind him. Half hidden in one of the curtains was a striking blond woman in a gold dress, tapping away at the screen of her smartphone.

“She’ll be with us as soon as she finishes tweeting,” Linden continued. “So, maybe an hour or two, right Laurel?”

Laurel was silent for a few seconds as she continued to type. Then she lifted her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was busy making sure the press release went out for tonight. You know, just trying to save our show. Was I inconveniencing you?”

“Not more than usual,” Linden responded with a smile. Laurel snorted.

If there’s one thing I know well, it’s siblings who work together. It was obvious that Laurel and Linden loved each other just slightly more than they hated each other.

Laurel’s handshake was just as firm as her brother’s. “Laurel,” she said.

“Joe,” I responded. “And this is my brother, Frank.”

“Good to meet you,” said Frank.

“So what’s the story with the plane?” I asked him.

“I can’t tell. It looks like the engine shorted, but
whether it was an accident or on purpose, I won’t be able to tell without a closer look. Can we put it somewhere where I can examine it later?”

Linden nodded. Side-by-side, Laurel and Linden looked amazingly alike. Same hair, same height, same eyes. Linden was more outgoing and friendly, but aside from that, they were a matched set.

“But make sure you don’t mess it up,” said Laurel. She paused. “I mean, any more than it already is. It could have some resale value.”

“Excuse me! Sorry! Mr. von Louden? You wanted me?”

A short man approached. His hair was black and his skin was very pale. He looked even younger than Frank and I, but from the headset he wore and the clipboard he carried, it was obvious he worked here.

“Oh, look,” said Laurel. “It’s your pet.”

The guy blushed a brilliant red and stared down at his shoes.

Linden snapped his fingers.

“Damien!” he said. Somehow he managed to have all the intensity of a full scream without going above a normal speaking voice. “How many times have I told you to stay with me at all times?”

“Yes sir, I know. It’s just … you … you … asked me to go—” Damien stammered his way through an answer, but Linden wasn’t listening.

“This is Joe and Frank Hardy. They won that contest I told you about, remember?”

Damien nodded.

“They can go anywhere they want, ask any questions, talk to anyone. If they need anything, you’ll help them out. And tomorrow, you’ll give them a tour of the entire backstage area.”

Damien scribbled frantically on his clipboard while Linden spoke. “Tour, tomorrow. Got it. Anything else?”

“There’s a preview in thirty minutes. Find these guys good seats, and do something about the missing plane.”

Something
, Damien scribbled on his pad, and I had to pity the poor guy. That didn’t look like a fun job.

“You’re going to have a show, now?” I asked, shocked. A flaming plane had nearly crashed into the stage—and Claire!

“Gentlemen,” Linden smiled big. “This is Broadway. PLACES!”

Linden clapped his hands and everyone started scrambling.

“If you two could, uh, follow me?” Damien said. He led us back into the wing, near where Claire had gone.

“So what do you do here?” I asked, trying to play our cover story.

“I’m Linden’s assistant,” he said. “So I do a little of everything.”

It was hard to imagine Damien having a full-time
job of any kind, let alone working for someone as high-powered as Linden von Louden. But he must have had some kinds of skills, because Linden didn’t seem like the type to put up with incompetence. In fact, our briefing had mentioned Linden’s short temper as one of his dominant characteristics.

Damien pulled two folding chairs out from behind a giant piece of scenery and put them just offstage, almost in view of the audience.

“This mark is the sight line from the front row,” he said, pointing to a thin piece of tape on the ground. “Whatever you do, don’t go past it. In fact, don’t get out of these chairs—actors are going to be running on and off right past you, and if you get in their way, it’ll throw the whole scene off.”

With that, he disappeared, leaving Frank and me alone. Or well, as alone as we could be considering that fifty people were rushing around us, getting ready for the preview.

“So this is like … a pre-opening show? Is it a dress rehearsal?”

“No,” said Frank. “It’s a chance for people to see the full show, so that Linden can gauge their reaction and see if there’s anything that needs to be changed.”

“Judging by what we saw earlier, I’d say pretty much everything needs to change, except for Claire! What’s your read on the plane?”

“It could have been an accident … but I doubt it. The real question is, who sabotaged it and how?”

I was about to respond, when Claire swept over to us. She was dressed for the preview in a period WWII uniform. A wig had been put over her real hair, giving her long curly brown locks that made her look like less of a teenager, and more of a pinup star.

She laid her hand on Frank’s shoulder.

“So, what exactly are your bodyguard duties?” she asked.

Frank blushed, and I almost snorted. I loved watching girls hit on Frank. He never knew how to handle it, even with a girl like Claire who clearly flirted with everyone.

“Well, we, you know, we look after you and make sure you’re safe.”

“If I was in danger, you’d do something?” she asked, leaning in closer.

“Of course!” Frank blurted out.

“Well,” said Claire with a big smile. “Right now, I’m in danger of dying of thirst. Would you be a dear and get a juice pack from my dressing room? They’re in the fridge.”

Frank smiled ruefully. He’d walked right into that one.

“Sure thing, Claire,” he said gracefully. Once he was gone, she flopped down in his chair.

“You seem pretty calm about this whole near-death-experience thing,” I said, hoping to get to know her a little better. She seemed nice, but she barely seemed to care about the threats and the accidents. I hated to suspect our client, but we’d seen this sort of thing before, people faking danger for attention.

Claire laughed. “I’ve been on television since I was three. I got my first marriage proposal at seven, and my first death threat when I was ten. Two years ago, some girl got plastic surgery to look like me and managed to steal my yacht. Which we still haven’t recovered. So yeah, I’m pretty calm about this. It’s all part of being famous.”

I smiled. There was more to Claire than met the eye.

“How’s it looking out there?” she asked. I leaned forward in my chair, past Damien’s tape mark.

“Well …”

“Empty, huh?” she said.

“Not completely, but yeah.”

“That’s what I figured. Still, a star must go on. Thank you.”

Frank reappeared and handed her a juice box. She sucked it down in one quick gulp. She made no effort to get up from his chair. Damien scurried around us like an ant, doing this job and then the next. In fact, everyone except for Claire seemed to be in a complete panic. The energy backstage was so intense you could feel it—as
opposed to the energy in the front of the house, which was pretty much nonexistent.

“I don’t get it,” said Frank. “How can you have such an army of fans outside, but no one at the show?”

“Those fans?” said Claire with a yawn. “Those are
my
fans. They’re not here for the show. They’re here for me. Besides, they’ve all read the blogs. This show is falling apart.”

She grimaced.

“That bad, huh?” I asked.

“No,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I mean, yes, it is. But actually, right now, I don’t feel so well.”

A shiver ran through her.

“Places!” Linden yelled from the other side of the stage. “On in five!”

“Ms. Cleveland?” said Damien, in a voice so quiet I could barely hear him. “Are you okay?”

Claire had turned seriously green. Something was wrong. She stood up.

“I’m going to be sick. Oh no!”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and ran toward the bathroom. Damien looked as if he were going to cry.

“No! Ms. Cleveland, come back!”

“What is the problem here? Damien! Where is my star?” Linden appeared, his face an angry red.

“Mr. von Louden, she’s sick. She just ran to the
bathroom. Should I go see what’s wrong?” Damien wrung his hands in worry.

“There’s no time. Get Madonna in costume and put her on the stage. We’re live in three minutes. I thought Claire was never sick!”

The last part was yelled generally at the stage crew as Linden stalked off. Damien ran off, his face set in a terrified expression.

Gone was the suave, cool, and collected Linden we’d met earlier. Now he was raging backstage, exactly like everyone I’d ever seen play a director in the movies. Or a crazy person. Was it just preshow jitters? Or did someone have an anger management problem?

“I’ll check on Claire,” volunteered Frank.