Before Alex could respond, Omar’s phone started buzzing. He leaped to attention and hurried off toward Brian’s trailer.
“I need a new memory card,” Cora announced brusquely, and flounced away.
As soon as we were alone, Alex leaned in. “So, any news? What’s the latest?”
“Well,” I replied slowly, “Sal is bitter enough to want to hurt people. We haven’t ruled him out, but whoever climbed to the top of that trailer and cut that hole had to have been less . . .”
“Old,” George finished.
Bess shot her a glare.
“What?” George exclaimed defensively. “It’s true!”
“Can you think of any reason that Sal might want to sabotage the film?” I continued.
Alex shook his head. “Not really. I’ve never even worked with him before, though. Lali has, but she’s one of the few people he’s not mean to. I can’t imagine why he’d want to hurt her.”
“What about Roberta Ely?” Bess asked. “That cranky woman who runs the River Heights Fourth of July Carnival? She doesn’t seem too happy about you guys shooting on the fairgrounds.”
“Would she have gotten a call sheet, Alex?” I asked.
Alex looked momentarily impressed at my use of the proper terminology. “We only give them to crew members, but people leave them lying around all the time, so it’s possible.” He paused. “But even if Roberta Ely managed to pick up a call sheet, she wouldn’t have gotten it till this morning; we sent them out late last night.”
“Whoever dumped the fake blood on Brian’s shirt would have had to know what he would be wearing in the first scene. That means it’s someone who had access to inside information about the film beforehand,” I explained.
“Interesting,” Alex replied. “So the prankster is probably a member of our crew! Kind of a creepy thought.”
I was trying to figure out the most delicate way to ask Alex about Cora when Nysa shouted, “We’re back in!” and, with her army of production assistants, hustled everyone back to work.
“Let’s continue this later,” Alex said, grabbing his folders and rushing off. Seeing his worried face made me more determined than ever to solve this mystery, but I knew how disappointed Alex would be if Cora was indeed our culprit. I had no concrete evidence against her at this point, so I decided to keep my suspicions to myself.
George insisted on grabbing one more brownie before we followed the crowd to the set, which had now moved inside the train station. Just as we were about to enter, Nysa appeared, apparently escorting Omar out. “Closed set,” she announced. “Only cast and vital crew can be inside. Sorry, guys.”
Omar glared at Nysa and stormed off, but George, Bess, and I remained standing at the doorway.
George nudged me. “Should we watch through the windows?”
“You can’t,” Nysa said. “You’ll be in frame.” With that, she went back inside.
“If only there was a way for us to observe without being in the way,” I pondered.
“You know, you can watch everything at video village.” I looked up to see Raina walking toward us. She was wearing a tool belt filled with double-sided tape, a lint roller, safety pins, and stain remover. “Follow me.”
She led us to a small tent set up on a nearby lawn. Several director-style chairs faced a monitor that showed everything the camera was seeing. I could hear Alex’s voice coming through a set of headphones next to the monitor. A number of crew members—including Lali—had gathered around as well.
“This is video village. We can watch and hear what’s going on without actually being on set.” As she spoke, I could tell that Raina was making an effort to seem confident and poised after the incident in the costume trailer.
“Last looks!” Nysa barked over the walkie-talkie. The makeup artists collected their bags.
“That’s my last chance to adjust the costumes before they start shooting!” Raina exclaimed anxiously, hurrying away. “I’ll be right back!”
“So what’s so intense that we can’t be inside?” George asked.
I thumbed through my sides. In this scene, Dylan confessed to his sister that he had amassed a large amount of debt and if they didn’t make a quick profit from the Hamilton Inn, loan sharks would come after him.
“That’s it?” George grumbled. “I thought it was going to be a zombie apocalypse kind of thing.”
“Gross, George!” Bess exclaimed.
“Shhhh!” came a stern voice from across the tent. We zipped our lips and watched Brian in action.
After the first take, I realized that one of our suspects was missing.
“Where’s Cora?” I whispered to George. “I haven’t seen her since lunch.”
“Me neither,” she replied, and Bess shook her head too.
“I’m going to take a quick stroll around,” I told them.
I set off, walking from the train station to the other end of the parking lot. I noticed Omar pacing outside Brian’s and Zoë’s trailers, hands deep in his pockets. He definitely looked frustrated, I assumed because Nysa had kicked him off the set.
Nearby, I could hear Sal grumbling to himself about Nysa’s stolen stapler accusation. I was about to try speaking with him again when I noticed Cora coming out of the production trailer with her camera.
“Hey there,” I greeted her.
Cora had never been particularly friendly, but the expression on her face made her look downright nervous.
“I was looking for Lali, but nobody’s in there,” she explained, even though I hadn’t asked.
“Everything okay?” I pressed, keeping my tone pleasant.
She avoided eye contact. “I just think I should be allowed on set. How am I supposed to film a behind-the-scenes documentary if my brother won’t let me go behind the scenes?”
“Alex made you leave?” I had been sensing friction between the siblings since the moment I arrived.
“Yeah. Brian said I could stay, but Alex thought my camera was distracting everyone from the real camera. You know, I’ve been studying film way longer than my brother has. Up until two years ago, he was going to be a lawyer!” Her hands were clenched around her camera straps so hard that her knuckles turned white.
I did my best to comfort her. “Well, I’m sure he’s just stressed out, what with it being the first day of shooting and having to deal with these pranks.”
Cora kept her gaze downcast. “Whatever,” she said. “At least Brian gets it, even if my brother doesn’t.”
She stalked away and plopped down angrily in one of the plastic chairs next to the craft service table. I wanted to linger nearby in hopes of continuing the conversation, but Cora didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood.
As I pondered the case further, Zoë swished past me, speaking intensely to someone on her phone. She disappeared into her trailer.
After a few minutes, she poked her head out the door. “Has anyone seen Shea?” she called. A young-looking production assistant with jet-black hair dashed across the parking lot.
“I’m here, Zoë!” he cried. “Sorry! I was looking for the stapler.” He stopped to catch his breath. “But that’s not as important as you! What do you need?”
Zoë looked a little taken aback by Shea’s display of enthusiasm. “I just wanted to see if tomorrow’s call sheet was ready. I was wondering what we’re shooting.”
“You shouldn’t be handing out call sheets early,” Omar barked from where he was sulking nearby.
“But they’re finished,” Shea said, looking confused. “Should I ask Nysa first?”
“Omar, don’t harass him,” Zoë scoffed. “It’s fine, Shea. I just need to get an idea of what time I should be here tomorrow. I’m trying to schedule something.”
Shea looked anxiously from Zoë to Omar. Finally he said, “I’ll get a call sheet, Zoë,” and he ran to the production trailer.
“Fine. Don’t listen to me,” Omar huffed, rummaging around in one of the coolers near the craft service table.
&n
bsp; Even though it wasn’t first time I’d heard Omar make a snotty comment, he was being particularly harsh on Shea. I wondered if there was something bothering him beyond being kicked off the set.
“Omar, can you hand me a soda?” I asked. “I’m really thirsty.”
“Huh?” he said, as if he didn’t understand.
“A soda. Please.”
“Oh, sure,” Omar replied, tossing me a can.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem kind of . . . on edge.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m just tired. The early mornings are getting to me, you know?”
I nodded.
“And I guess I’m a little homesick,” he added.
“For L.A.?”
“No, I’m from Vancouver. I’ve never actually been to Los Angeles,” Omar admitted, “but I’m hoping that Brian’s next project will take me there.”
Shea jogged back out of the production trailer, sweating and wearing a panicked expression.
“Lali?” he called, and then repeated his words into his walkie-talkie. “Has anyone seen Lali? It’s an emergency. I need her NOW.”
Moments later Lali hurried over. Shea whispered something in her ear, and she snatched the call sheet from his trembling hand.
I leaned over to peek. In big red letters on the bottom of the piece of paper, someone had written: SHUT IT DOWN, OR YOU’LL BE SORRY.
CHAPTER FIVE
Double Agent
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING I drove bess and George to the day’s first location: the actual Hamilton Inn. We spent the entire car ride going over the events of day one.
The night before, Lali had assured the cast and crew that the threatening note was just another prank, but I could hear the worry starting to seep into her voice. She had already called me that morning to find out if I had any thoughts on a culprit. I had to say no, but I assured her that we were working on leads.
“Shea says the new call sheets were left unattended in the production trailer for about thirty minutes while he was out looking for the stapler and doing various errands. Someone must have gone inside and left the note during that time,” I told my friends.
“But there’s no way of knowing if the note was on the call sheet before Cora went inside?” Bess queried.
“Cora says she didn’t see the note, but she claims she was only in the production trailer for a second, so it’s possible she didn’t notice,” I responded. “Shea found the note about five minutes after Cora left the trailer.”
George raised an eyebrow. “This looks bad for Cora,” she said.
“She’s high on our suspect list,” I replied, “but Sal was also around. And Omar was acting strange too, actually. He didn’t want Shea to pass out the call sheets. Maybe he was trying to keep Shea from going inside the trailer.”
“Could he have written the note?” Bess asked.
“If he did,” I pondered, “he didn’t want anyone to find it, which doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Following handwritten signs that said CREW PARKING, I drove onto an unpaved road that snaked into the woods. I could feel my car bumping over the sticks and stones as I pulled into a makeshift parking lot set up in a dusty clearing. All the trucks and trailers were parked on the other end of the clearing, along with the craft service tent and its requisite coolers, tables, and chairs. Bess, George, and I got out of my car and followed more signs with arrows pointing toward SET, which led us along a narrow path shrouded by pine trees.
“Whoa,” Bess said breathlessly, stopping in her tracks. We had emerged from the dense forest to find ourselves standing in front of the Hamilton Inn, as the creaky, fading sign announced. The “inn” was actually a large, two-story Victorian home with a wide porch, two balconies, and miniature roof spires. Members of the art department ran in and out placing props while electricians rigged lights.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Alex appeared next to us, looking proud. Cora stood next to him.
“The interior looks a little too much like it came from one of the Harry Potter movies, if you ask me,” she scoffed.
Alex frowned at his sister. “I didn’t ask you.”
Cora stormed off in a huff.
George whispered in my ear, “She’s not helping her case with that attitude!”
“What was that, George?” Alex inquired.
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“Nancy, I’m starting to get really freaked out that someone’s out to sabotage this film,” Alex confessed. “It’s hard for me to focus when I know that something could go wrong at any moment. Please tell me you’ve uncovered something!”
“Not quite yet, but it’s going really well. Our Nancy always nabs the culprit,” Bess proclaimed. “With help from her brilliant friends, of course.”
Alex smiled gratefully. “I’ll take your word on that.”
Nysa sauntered over. “Good morning, all!” she announced cheerily. “Today is going to be a fantastic day!”
Alex appeared amused. “Oh? How do you know?”
“I found the missing stapler!” She held up the piece of office equipment as if it were a trophy. Sensing our lack of enthusiasm, Nysa shrugged. “We have to find joy in the little things, right?”
“Absolutely!” I laughed. “Where was it?”
“In one of the soda coolers, of all places,” Nysa replied. “Sal is such a liar sometimes!”
After a brief pause, Nysa turned to Alex. “Oh, Brian is in hair and makeup if you want to meet with him now.”
“Yeah, cool. See you later, Nancy, girls,” he said.
“Why would Sal lie about returning the stapler?” I asked.
“Because he’s mean,” Bess sniffed.
A loud screeching noise cut through our conversation. I turned to see a large black SUV trying to park on the lawn right in front of the Hamilton Inn sign.
Nysa began waving her arms and shouted, “You can’t park here!”
The car’s tinted window rolled down and a woman’s high-pitched voice screeched from within. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. I got incredibly, totally lost!” I glimpsed a shiny golden ponytail and mirrored aviator sunglasses. “Would you mind moving my car to the parking lot?”
Nysa looked taken aback by the request. “Excuse me?”
The blond woman, who looked positively tiny in such a huge vehicle, rolled down her window a little farther and removed her sunglasses. Her face was pristinely made up. “I’m Kendall. Kendall C. Rose,” she announced, but Nysa still looked confused. “Brian’s agent? I thought my assistant called to tell you I was coming by today.”
Kendall looked genuinely upset that Nysa didn’t know who she was.
“I didn’t get the message.” Nysa shrugged. “But no harm. It’s nice to meet you. The parking lot is over that way.”
“I’m just really bad with directions—like, the worst!” Kendall exclaimed. “I’d love it if someone could come with me and show me the way, at least.”
I jumped into action. “I’ll do it!”
Nysa looked relieved. “Thank you. Kendall, Nancy will take you to the parking lot and walk you back to set.”
Kendall flashed her sunny smile in Nysa’s direction once more. “Thank you so much. That is so helpful.”
“It’s a long shot, but maybe she’ll know if someone else has it out for the movie,” I whispered to my friends as I trotted over to the SUV.
Once inside, I noticed that Kendall’s car was sleek and modern: buttery leather seats, state-of-the-art GPS, the works.
“Nice car,” I remarked.
Kendall rolled her eyes. “Omigod, are you serious? It was the only one left in the rental place, and it totally smells like someone’s wet dog in here. Also, what is this color, right? It looks like vomit.”
I pointed her in the direction of the parking lot, and she started driving. “So, you’re Brian’s agent?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Kendall replied. “Isn’t he great? This Alan Burgess guy is so lucky. You know, I warn
ed Brian about how risky it is for an A-list actor to work with a first-time director. But when he wants to do something, there’s no stopping him.”
“You mean Alex,” I offered. “Turn left here.”
“Who?” She yanked her steering wheel sideways, coming jerkily to a stop and putting the car in park.
“Never mind,” I said. “So you didn’t want Brian to work on this film?”
Kendall opened her door and stepped out of the car. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—Brian’s a star. He can get bigger projects. But I get it, I mean, the whole Blue Ranger thing, that was just so . . .”
Before Kendall could finish her sentence, one of her stiletto heels sank right into the mud. “Eek!” she shrieked.
“So . . . what?” I pressed.
But Kendall was preoccupied. “What a mess. Doll, hand me that box on the backseat, would you?”
I had to twist myself into the tiny backseat to reach the cardboard shoe box. On the floor of the car, I noticed a plastic bag with bottles of ketchup and mustard peeking out of the top.
I made sure not to linger for fear of arousing suspicion and quickly handed Kendall the shoe box, which contained a pair of brand-new white tennis shoes.
“When did you get into town, Kendall?” I asked. She changed into the sneakers and tossed her stilettos haphazardly into the backseat, narrowly missing my cheek.
“Oh, two days ago.” She grimaced. “I couldn’t come to the shoot yesterday because I’ve had so much work to do. I’ve just been on my phone constantly, trapped in some horrible two-star hotel downtown eating the worst food I’ve ever had.”
“So the producers of The Blue Ranger must have been really upset when Brian—” I began, when Kendall’s phone rang.
“Oh hello, how are you?” she shrieked into the phone, pressing her finger to her lips to quiet me. Kendall stayed several feet behind me as I walked her to the set, but even at her lowest volume, I could hear every word. Whoever was on the other end of her call was getting an earful of complaints about River Heights, the lack of good restaurants and Pilates studios, and speculation about what could have possibly possessed Brian to act in such an insignificant film because, according to Kendall, “there’s nothing in it for him.”
A Script for Danger Page 4