Stage Fright (Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Book 6) (8 page)

“Oh, just my notebook,” she said. “It has my entire track for the show blocked out: everywhere I have to stand, every move I have to perform, along with all my notes. I thought you might get some use out of it. I must have misplaced it though. Silly me.”

Claire seemed the opposite of “silly” to me. And the way she was acting about this notebook made it clear that something was wrong. I took a shot in the dark.

“This … isn’t the only thing that’s gone missing recently, is it?”

Claire shrugged. I could tell someone had trained her to never be upset in public, but behind that mask of perfection, something was brewing. I waited, and sure enough, the truth burst out.

“No, it’s not,” she said finally. “I guess I’ve just been stressed out about this show. But I never lose things. Never! Why do you think I have such a huge bag? I’m basically a hoarder. If I didn’t have a personal assistant, I’d end up on one of those reality shows where they come and clean your house and find possums living in the walls.”

“Maybe someone is stealing from you?” I suggested off-handedly, wanting to see what she said.

“Maybe?” said Claire. “But it’s all random stuff. Nothing worth money. You know what? Forget about it. We should get back to rehearsing anyway.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Linden?” I didn’t want to stop talking now that I’d finally started to get Claire to open up.

“It’s cool,” Claire smiled. She swooped down and touched her toes, then slowly rolled back up until she was standing straight. “We’re going to work on stage combat. First things first—do you know how to take a fall?”

Finally!
I thought.
Something I know.

“Try me,” I said, smiling back at Claire.

The next hour passed quickly. Linden checked on us once, then told us to continue—he’d be back soon. Combat was something I was all too familiar with, and Claire turned out to be a great sparring partner. Stage fighting is sort of the opposite of a real fight, since your goal is never to hit the other person—or at least not to hit them hard. But it was pretty similar to the real thing.

Claire and I fought back and forth across the rehearsal room. She put me in a headlock and I slapped her face. I swept a leg out from under her and she punched me in the stomach. It was the most fun I’d had all day.

So when someone yanked my shoulder from behind, my natural instincts took over.

“Hee-ya!” I yelled, as I grabbed the person’s wrist and pulled forward, tossing them over my hip and slamming them straight into the floor.

BAM!

CHAPTER
9

FRANK

A SUSPECT RECOVERS

After Bess and George let me out of the basement, I decided to join them on part of their tour—mostly because I wanted an excuse to see the entire crew. If anyone looked at me funny, it could be a clue about who locked me down in the basement. Jason told me the door was known for shutting accidentally, but I doubted it was also known for leaving threatening notes.

We headed upstairs to the backstage area, but we hadn’t gone far before a scream ripped through the theater.

“Nancy!” Bess, George, and I said simultaneously. Nancy’s scream hit high notes that even the biggest Broadway diva would be jealous of. There was no mistaking it for anyone else.

“Come on!” yelled George, racing past a miniature Eiffel Tower and three backup dancers dressed as nurses. “This way.”

We raced through the rehearsal room door just in time to see Claire and Nancy help Linden to his feet. Joe was just behind us.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yes!” snapped Linden.

“Oh man, I’m so sorry!” said Nancy. “When you came up behind me, I just—”

“Just what?” he shouted. “Decided to break my skull?”

“No!” said Nancy. “You surprised me, that’s all.”

Linden took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He yanked his glasses off, cleaned them angrily on his shirt, and then shoved them back on his face. He tried his best to smile, but it didn’t work.

“I was just trying to help with your stage combat,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “But it looks like you’re all set in that area.”

“HA!” Laughter erupted out of Claire like lava from a volcano. “She TOSSED you. I mean, you went flying.”

“I’m aware of that Claire,” said Linden. He gave her a sharp look that she didn’t even notice.

“No, but like—she threw you across the room. You’ve got to be, what, six inches taller than she is? That was hysterical.”

I could see Linden’s hands balling into fists at his side.
Everything I’d read online about Linden von Louden had said that the biggest threat to his career was his temper, and it looked like we were about to get a front row seat to that show.

But somehow, he stopped himself. He uncurled his fists finger by finger. He took a deep breath.

“Thankfully, I’m fine,” he said. “No harm no foul, right? Let’s get back to rehearsal.”

“The understudy slams the director.” Laurel’s voice floated into the room from behind me. I turned to find her leaning against the door frame with her phone in hand. “Great, just what this show needs. New injuries.”

Linden turned on her, his face filled with fury.

“You shut up!” he snarled.

“Fine,” said Laurel. “I don’t have time to talk, anyway. Some of us have work to do.”

“What did you say?” said Linden, his voice dangerously quiet. He yanked his glasses off and cleaned them again. It seemed like all the anger he’d been bottling up from Claire and Nancy had found a new target.

“You heard me,” said Laurel.

“How dare you!?” Linden screamed. His face was red and angry. He rubbed his glasses harder, and this time they broke at the bridge.

“Broke your glasses again, eh?” mocked Laurel. “You should just buy stock in Gorilla Glue.” With that, she sauntered out of the room.

“Darn it!” Linden yelled. “Where is Damien? Why is no one working? And where is the Gorilla Glue?!”

He stormed after Laurel. As he passed through the door, he turned back for a second.

“Just … rehearse something!”

The room was tense and silent after they left. We all met each other’s eyes and nodded, except for Claire, who had pulled a granola bar from her bag and was busy tearing the wrapper off with her teeth.

“There’s something off about those two,” I said, echoing what everyone was thinking.

“Word,” said Claire. “The negative vibes off the two of them! It’s like every night they’re auditioning for the Scottish play.”

I stared at Claire blankly. “
The
Scottish play? Isn’t there more than one Scottish play?”

“You know,” she said with a mouth full of granola. “THE Scottish play. The famous one. By Shakespeare?”

“Oh, you mean
Macbeth
?” said Nancy.

“Noooo!” howled Claire. She dropped her granola bar to the ground. Joe leapt forward.

“Are you okay? Was there something in that bar? Frank, call an ambulance!”

“No!” yelled Claire. Her eyes were wild and her hands were shaking. She backed away from all of us. “It’s her! She said it.”

Claire pointed at Nancy.

“All she said was Mac—”

“STOP!” shouted Claire. “Never say that name in the theater. It’s the worst luck imaginable.”

Considering that she’d already been poisoned, and that her understudy had broken both her legs, I didn’t know how much worse luck this show could have.

“Don’t tell me you believe in those sorts of superstitions?” said Joe with a laugh.

Claire turned on him. “This is not just superstition. My friend Tia was in a show where the technical director talked about
that
play right before opening night, and one of the drops caught fire in the second act!”

Nancy held up her hands as if she was dealing with a wild animal. Slowly, she stepped toward Claire. “There has to be something we can do.”

Claire nodded. “You have to go outside and run around the theater three times. Counterclockwise. And then spit.”

“Okay,” said Nancy.

Claire made a little motion with her hand, shooing Nancy off.

“Right now?” asked Nancy.

With a nod from Claire, Nancy sighed and headed outside.

“That was awesome,” said George, laughing. “Does everyone in the theater call it the Scottish play?”

“Oh, yes,” said Claire, who was calmer now. “We’re
very serious about all of this. The theater is an ancient tradition, you know. And as artists, we’ve always been a little closer to ghosts and gods and things not of this world.”

Claire waxed poetic about the theater and George lost interest quickly. She rolled her eyes and winked at me. George thought superstitions were interesting. But pretentions? Not so much.

Heavy footsteps announced Nancy’s return. Claire ran across the room and stopped her in the doorway.

“You ran all the way around three times?”

“Yes, Claire.”

“Counterclockwise?”

“Yes, Claire.”

“And you remembered to spit?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, then you can come back in.”

Claire stepped out of the way and let Nancy in. As she did, her cell phone began to ring. I couldn’t help but notice that her ring tone was the theme music from her TV show—which was also the single off her first album.

“Oh no,” said Claire, looking at the screen. “It’s
her
! Ugh. Let me get rid of her—this will just take a minute.”

She closed her eyes for a second, and all traces of irritation vanished. When she answered the phone, her voice was bright and perky. This was the weirdest part of working with actors—how well they lied.

“Hi!” said Claire with excitement. “I was just thinking about calling you. The flowers? Oh good, I’m glad you liked them.”

She turned toward us, pulled the phone away from her mouth, and pretended to hang herself. But the whole time, her voice was chipper and friendly.

“Great! Great. Your role? Well, you’d have to talk to Linden about that. Speaking of, I have to get back to rehearsal. No. No. No, you’re the best! Love ya like a sister.”

She clicked the phone closed, though even from across the room I could tell the other person on the line was still talking.

“Who was that?” I asked. Whoever it was, Claire clearly didn’t like them. And it seemed like they had no idea. Claire insisted she didn’t have any enemies, but I wondered if she was just too self-centered to notice.

“Madonna,” Claire said. “Not the famous one. Apparently she’s like conscious again? And she wants her part back. Can you believe that? She was never very good, and now she has two broken legs. Although, come to think of it, that could only improve her dancing.”

“I guess you’re not the president of her fan club, eh?” said Nancy.

“Funny you should say that,” Claire replied, throwing her arm around Nancy’s shoulder. Now that Madonna
was back in the picture, Nancy’s
Macbeth
slipup seemed to be forgotten.

“Madonna actually used to be the president of
my
fan club, until she got the role as my understudy. I wish they’d never cast her. It’s like they hired me a second shadow!”

She threw her hands in the air in frustration.

“If she’s awake, we should go talk to her,” Joe said to me. “You girls will be safe here?”

“With this one around, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Claire, punching Nancy in the arm. “You should have seen her stage combat! Besides, we have to get back to rehearsing anyway.”

“You guys go,” said Nancy. “But we should meet up later and talk.”

I nodded. From the sound of her voice, Nancy had some information for us.

“If it’s all right with you, Nance, we’re going to continue our tour.” Bess said.

“Sure,” said Nancy. “But you know what, you should have someone with you, just in case. Do you think Linden would mind if Damien showed them around?” Nancy asked Claire.

“Nah,” Claire responded. “That little weirdo’s got nothing better to do.”

Very clever,
I thought. That made one suspect who wasn’t going to have the time to cause any new mischief.

“And you two will stay here rehearsing?” I asked. Thinking about Madonna’s accident had me worried for Nancy’s safety.

“Of course—”

“AAAHHHHHHH!!!!” Claire screamed suddenly. “NO!”

CHAPTER
10

JOE

ACT ONE : CONFESSION!

Everyone froze. Claire’s scream echoed in the room. She had one
heck of a powerful voice for such a small person! I ran to her side so fast it was as if
I teleported.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I was always ready to play fair
prince to a damsel in distress, especially one as cute as Claire. Nancy and Frank were
right behind me.

“Look at this!” she howled, thrusting her phone at me.

The screen showed a text message from an unknown number.

“DROP OUT—OR DROP DEAD!!!!!”

“It’s okay,” said Frank, trying to sound reassuring.
“We’re going to catch this creep.”

“Okay?” yelled Claire, only a little less loudly than
she’d screamed before. “This is the opposite of okay!
What part of this seems okay to you?”

She stomped over to the corner where all her stuff appeared to be piled on
the ground. All the while she stared at the screen.

“If they think they can scare me off like this, they have another
thing coming,” she muttered to herself. “I’m calling my agent. No,
I’m issuing a press release!”

She dialed her phone rapidly as she stuffed her things back into her
purse. “Get me Stanley. No I won’t hold. This is Claire Cleveland.
CLEVELAND.”

She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Assistants,” she said.
“He runs through them like tissues. I’m going to my dressing
room.”

Nancy started to say something, but Claire interrupted her.

“Relax, I had my first stalker in kindergarten,” she said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door.”

Yelling at her agent, she trooped out.

“She’s intense!” I said. I liked her spunk.

“You should try fighting with her,” Nancy said, rubbing her
shoulder. “She’s got a good right hook, too.”

“Find anything out?” Frank asked.