Vanishing Act

by Carolyn Keene

  But I’m not going to give her that chance, Nancy vowed. I’ll make good on this if it kills me!

  “Well, there must have been some mix-up,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “Just fill me in on what I need to do, and I’ll try the best I can not to mess up.”

  “It’s too late to fill you in,” Renee scolded her. “Just keep looking at the camera. Someone will cue you when they’re about to switch over to a video. Here we are. No time to make you up—they’ll have to do it during the first commercial.”

  They were at the studio door now. Renee pushed it open.

  “Where was she?” someone hissed as Nancy and Renee rushed toward the set. “I’ll explain later,” Renee shot back over her shoulder. “Is Carla here?”

  “Yes. I’m her agent,” a dark-haired young woman answered. “We wanted some time for Carla to talk to the veejay first. It’s really not fair to make a star go on without any warm-up, you know!”

  To Nancy’s intense relief, Renee didn’t blame her for being late. All her energy seemed concentrated on making sure Nancy got on the air. “Sorry. A mix-up,” Renee told the agent. “Can’t do anything about it now. Okay, Nancy. Here’s your chair.”

  She pushed Nancy into the anchor’s seat in front of the camera. “Good luck.”

  Nancy’s heart was pounding, and her hands were clammy. Face the camera, she told herself. And smile!

  She looked up and stared into the camera. It was like staring into space. All she could see was the camera—everything else was black. Above her, the floodlights were beating down, but Nancy wasn’t even conscious of how hot it was. Every nerve was concentrated on making this work.

  A technician to the side of the camera waved to get Nancy’s attention. He held up ten fingers—ten seconds to go. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Nancy felt as if she had a metal band being pulled tight across her chest. Five. Four. Three. I can’t do this! she thought wildly. Two. One. She was on.

  Nancy smiled into the blackness and was startled by the sound of her own voice. “Hello. I’m Nancy Drew, your guest veejay,” she began, “and I’m brand-new at this. You have to bear with me for a little while because I’m so nervous I can hardly breathe, much less speak.” There was a stifled laugh off-camera.

  Now Carla Tarleton was slipping into the seat next to Nancy’s. Nancy could hear her breathing fast and knew Carla was nervous, too. That realization made Nancy feel much calmer.

  “Today we’re going to be talking to Carla Tarleton, the drummer for the Temple of Doom,” she said. “I mean, the lead singer for the Temple of Doom. Sorry, Carla!”

  She turned to look at Carla, and for the first time noticed what her guest was wearing—a white leather T-shirt, a turquoise leather miniskirt with metal studs, and thigh-high boots entirely covered with yellow feathers. “Wow!” Nancy said involuntarily. “What incredible boots! Where did you get them?”

  For an awful moment Carla just stared, open-mouthed, at Nancy. Then she broke into easy laughter. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t ready for that question,” she said. “Uh—Big Bird made them for me. No, actually, I made them myself. I bought the feathers at a warehouse and glued them on one at a time.”

  “But that must have taken forever!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “Just about, but it was a perfect thing to do on the road. Gave me something to occupy myself on the bus. Some people do needlepoint, I glue feathers on boots. There’s not much difference, really.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Nancy said. “But listen, Carla. You said you hadn’t been expecting that question. What were you expecting, if you don’t mind telling us?”

  “Oh, something boring about what it’s like being the only girl in the band. That’s what people usually ask me.”

  “Well, we’ll skip that, then,” Nancy said. “What about—Oops! Wait, folks. One of the studio guys is giving me some kind of hand signal. I think—yes—you’re about to see Temple of Doom’s new video. Let’s take a look.”

  “Okay, three minutes until you’re back on, Nancy,” said a cameraman. Everyone in the studio began talking at once.

  The makeup woman rushed up to Nancy and began powdering her face. “Too bad we didn’t get a chance to do this before,” she said, “but I don’t think anyone will notice. You’re doing great.”

  Nancy was shaking all over. “Great?” she exclaimed. “All I did was goof up!” She turned to Carla. “I called you a drummer! I can’t believe it!”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Carla said. “I’m having a good time. They’ll see me sing on the video, anyway.”

  The makeup woman had finished, and now it was the hairdresser’s turn. “Not much to do here,” she said to Nancy. “We’ll just mousse you up a tiny bit.”

  The cameraman was looking over the hairdresser’s shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” he said reassuringly. “Very relaxed. Just make sure you don’t turn away from the camera. Pretend it’s a friend you’re talking to.”

  “Carla, don’t forget to mention the name of the new album!” came the frantic voice of Carla’s agent.

  “I will,” said Carla calmly, “if it comes up. I don’t have to talk about music all the time. If Nancy wants to talk about something else, that’s fine with me.”

  “Okay, folks, back in places” came a technician’s voice. “Nancy, keep up the good work.”

  The next twenty-two minutes passed in a blur. Nancy couldn’t decide whether she was totally relaxed or more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Whichever it was, she knew there was no point in trying to pretend she was totally comfortable in front of a camera—so she didn’t try. And between commercials and switches to music videos, she managed to feel as though she were having a real conversation with Carla. They talked about everything, from what their high schools had been like to their favorite brands of ice cream.

  When the show was over, everyone in the studio broke into applause—even Carla’s agent.

  All the lights came on, and Nancy looked out at the many faces that had been hidden by the dark. “Is that all?” she asked. “I don’t get another chance?”

  “You don’t need one,” the director said, walking up to her chair. “You came across completely naturally, and that’s the most important thing.”

  “I hope Renee agrees with you,” Nancy said, surprised and embarrassed when she started to yawn.

  “It’s perfectly natural,” an assistant said. “It’s the tension draining away.”

  Nancy smiled gratefully and peered around the studio. “Where is Renee? She was pretty upset with me just before the taping. I’d have thought she’d stick around to see how I did.”

  “She’s probably tense because of the concert. In fact, she’s probably at the stadium by now,” a cameraman said.

  “What concert?”

  “The Crisp. They’re at Featherstone Stadium tonight. I bet Renee left early to go with Vint.”

  “Vint Wylie?” Nancy asked. “She knows him?”

  “Knows him! They’ve been going together for almost three years—ever since Jesse Slade disappeared.”

  “But I talked to—” Nancy stopped. She was supposed to be undercover and couldn’t go around telling people she’d been talking to Vint Wylie!

  The cameraman didn’t notice Nancy’s hesitation. “Renee doesn’t mention it much around here,” he said. “There’s the thing about Jesse Slade.”

  “What thing about Jesse?”

  “Well, you know that she was Jesse’s girl before she started going out with Vint, right?”

  “She was?” Nancy asked incredulously.

  “Oh, yeah. They were quite an item. It didn’t look too good when she started seeing Vint so soon after Jesse disappeared.”

  Suddenly he stopped. “Hey, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be saying all this!”

  “It’s all right,” Nancy assured him. “I won’t tell anyone that you told me.”

  He seemed to perk up. “Okay,” he said. “Anyway, I’m not telling you a
nything you wouldn’t have found out sooner or later. Well, I’ve got to take off. Nice talking to you!”

  Nice talking to you, Nancy thought. You’ve certainly added an interesting new angle to this case. And you’ve given me some pretty prime suspects, too.

  No wonder Vint Wylie had lied about not knowing who Jesse Slade’s girlfriend was. What if he and Renee had actually started seeing each other before Jesse died? Had they murdered Jesse?

  Wait a minute, Nancy said to herself. Where’s the motive? Could Renee and Vint be tied in to Tommy Road? Or did they have another reason to want Jesse dead?

  Lost in thought, she walked slowly through the halls back to Renee’s cubicle. She reached down to pull her purse out from under Renee’s desk—and that’s when she saw the note.

  Please send Nancy Drew to my office immediately.

  Winslow Thomas

  Instantly Nancy’s heart began to pound. Had Winslow seen her interview with Carla? Was he angry?

  When Nancy reached his office and saw his grave face, she did not have her fears allayed.

  “Sit down, Nancy,” he said crisply. “I want to talk to you. Hang on a second. I want Dan in here, too.”

  Oh, no, Nancy thought.

  Winslow picked up the phone. “Call Kennedy and get him in here,” he ordered his secretary. Then he hung up and turned to Nancy.

  “You did a jolly good job interviewing Carla,” Winslow said unexpectedly. Then he added, “Considering your lack of preparation. You were poised, but I think you’ll agree that the whole interview wasn’t very, well, professional. I mean, you certainly hadn’t done your homework, had you?”

  What was Nancy supposed to say? She’d had no time to do any “homework”—but she didn’t want to tell tales on Renee. Before she could decide on an answer, Winslow spoke again.

  “I also heard you were late this morning.” He picked up a marble paperweight and began turning it in his hands, staring at it intently, unwilling to meet her eyes.

  Finally he looked up. “What kind of progress are you making on your case?”

  “Well, I—I have some leads, but—” Nancy knew she sounded as though she was floundering.

  “But nothing definite,” Winslow interrupted. “I thought that was what you’d say. Look, under the circumstances I can’t justify having you here as a guest veejay any longer. I hate to say it, but I’m going to have to ask you to give up this case.”

  Chapter

  Eight

  BUT, MR. THOMAS, I’ve only been working for two days!” Nancy protested. “It always takes me a few days to start unraveling a case!”

  “Be that as it may,” Mr. Thomas said, “it’s—well, disruptive having you here. Some members of my staff have started asking questions already. It hasn’t escaped their attention that you came on as a guest veejay without coming through any of the normal channels. I can’t fend off their questions much longer.”

  “But I—I don’t understand why it would be bad if people knew who I was,” Nancy said. “I’d think it would be good for TVR to get the credit for solving this mystery!”

  “Not if the solution’s unpleasant,” Mr. Thomas countered swiftly. “And I’m afraid it will be.”

  “You wanted to see me, Mr. Thomas?” Dan Kennedy was poking his head into the room.

  “Yes. Sit down. I’ve just been telling Nancy that I’d like her to stop investigating this matter with any help from us. I think it’s doing the station a disservice. I wanted you to know, Dan,” Winslow added wryly, “since you brought Nancy and her friends here in the first place.”

  Dan looked worried. Nancy couldn’t blame him. Winslow wouldn’t fire Dan because of her, would he?

  She couldn’t let that happen. She had to prove that Dan had been right in asking her to solve the mystery of Jesse’s disappearance.

  Nancy gathered up all her resolve. “Mr. Thomas,” she said, “do you think you could give me another twenty-four hours here? If I don’t have the case solved by then, I promise I’ll forget it.”

  “I—I think that’s a good idea,” said Dan hesitantly. “I have complete confidence in Nancy, Mr. Thomas. She’s been so busy since she got here that she really hasn’t had any time to do much investigating.”

  Mr. Thomas met both of their eyes with his steely ones. Then quickly he stood, nodded his head, and said, “All right, Nancy. You’ve got your twenty-four hours. Use it well.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy said with heartfelt relief. “Thank you very much. I do have an important lead I can follow up tomorrow morning.” Last night she’d asked George to call Martin Rosenay, the dealer in Slade memorabilia, to set up an appointment with him for the next morning.

  “I guess you’ll be late tomorrow?” Mr. Thomas asked with a sly smile.

  “I guess I will be,” said Nancy, unconsciously holding her breath.

  “Go ahead,” said Mr. Thomas. “You can leave a note on Renee’s desk and tell her I said it would be all right.”

  “I will. And thanks again, Mr. Thomas.”

  • • •

  George and Bess were watching the evening news when Nancy walked into the bungalow and threw herself onto the couch. “I’m never moving again,” she groaned.

  “Can I get you a soda? Did you have another bad day?” George asked sympathetically.

  Nancy sighed. “Yes, please, to the first question. Yes and no, to the second. It was interesting, at least.” Quickly she filled George and Bess in on what had happened.

  “At least you got to veejay. Do you have a tape?” Bess asked.

  “Yes, they gave me one,” Nancy said. “But I don’t much feel like looking at it right now.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell Mr. Thomas it was Renee’s fault you weren’t prepared!” Bess said. “Why are you taking all the blame for this?”

  “Believe me, I wanted to tell him,” Nancy said. “But it just wouldn’t be a good idea—especially now that she’s a suspect. I don’t want her to suspect that I suspect her, if you see what I mean. The nicer and more uncomplaining I am, the more relaxed she’ll be around me.”

  “Well, you’re just too much of a saint,” Bess said. “But I suppose you’re right.”

  “Did you two find out anything?” Nancy asked.

  “Not that much,” George said, “except that spending all day reading microfilm in a newspaper archive makes your eyes go crazy. I think I know every detail of the police investigation into Jesse’s disappearance—”

  “And I know every review of every song he ever released—” Bess put in.

  “But nothing that looked like a clue,” George finished.

  Just then the phone rang. Nancy picked it up. “Hi, Nancy!” It was Dan Kennedy. “I just wanted to cheer you up.”

  “Well, I’m not feeling too great,” Nancy admitted.

  “Anything I can do to make you feel better? Are you free tomorrow morning after your appointment? Somebody canceled on me, and I’ve got a couple of hours open all of a sudden. I’d love an update on the case.”

  “Oh, Dan, I’m sorry. I’m going to be busy all morning,” Nancy said regretfully. Then, from the comer of her eye, she saw Bess jumping up and down and pointing excitedly at herself and George. “But Bess and George are free,” Nancy said. “Can they stand in for me?”

  “Sure!” Dan said. “l’ll take them to Fumetti’s for breakfast. It’s the latest hot spot. You know—mineral water and famous people.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Nancy said with a laugh. “Should they meet you at TVR?”

  “Sure. We’ll go in my Lamborghini. It’s my one luxury. I got it last year when my career took off. If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right—right?”

  “Right. Thanks, Dan.”

  Nancy hung up and turned to her friends, smiling for the first time in hours. “We aim to please,” she said.

  • • •

  The next morning Nancy dropped Bess and George off at the studio and stopped for a minute to admire Dan’s car bef
ore heading to her appointment. She had just taken the exit for Chelmsford when her car phone suddenly began to ring. Astonished, she picked it up.

  “Nancy? This is Lily, the receptionist at TVR. I’m sorry to bother you, but someone’s just dropped off a package for you. There’s a note on it that says it’s urgent that you receive it immediately.”

  “A package? Who left it?”

  “I don’t know. I was away from my desk for a few minutes, and when I came back it was sitting here.”

  “Well, I’m on my way to an appointment that I really have to keep,” Nancy said. “Could you possibly open it and tell me what it is?”

  “Uh, gee, Nancy, I don’t think I should,” Lily answered uncertainly. “There’s a sticker on it that says ‘Private and Confidential.’ ”

  “I see. Well, I guess I’d better come back, then,” Nancy said. “Thanks, Lily.”

  Shaking her head in frustration, she turned and headed toward the freeway entrance that would take her back to the center of town.

  She arrived at TVR, half an hour later, to find Lily looking terribly embarrassed.

  “Nancy, you’re not going to believe this,” she said, “but I can’t find the package. I was just on my way down to see if someone had taken it to Renee for you.”

  “I’ll do that,” Nancy said.

  But there was no sign of the package in Renee’s cubicle. And there was no sign of her package in the mailroom. Nancy checked on the off chance that it had been taken there by mistake. There was no sign of the package anywhere.

  “I—I just don’t know what happened,” Lily said, faltering. “I went to the copy machine for a second to make some copies for Mr. Thomas, and when I came back, the package was gone! Do you think it was something important?”

  “I hope not,” Nancy said. She felt like screaming. A whole hour wasted, when she had so little time left! “Well, don’t worry, Lily. It’s not your fault.” And she headed back out to her car.

  Well, I’ve got to make the trip all over again, she thought to herself as she sat down in the driver’s seat and switched on a classic-rock station. Then she headed out into the traffic.