Stage Fright Page 2

  “This is Ned Nickerson, a friend of mine—and Nancy,” George offered.

  Marla continued to study Ned for a moment as she lit a cigarette. “Gorgeous. Have you ever considered acting, young man?”

  Ned blushed, embarrassed by Marla’s frank stare. “Uh, not really.”

  Evelyn tried to rescue him by introducing the short man, who turned out to be the playwright, Joseph Brunner.

  “Nice to meet you, Joe,” Ned said pleasantly.

  Brunner seemed to grow six inches as he pulled himself up. “Not Joe. Joseph.”

  “Oh, sorry, um, Joseph.” Ned was even more embarrassed.

  Nancy changed the subject. “I’m curious, Evelyn. Why do you have five Christmas trees?”

  “Actually there are six. Thank goodness, one is still on stage. Alias Angel Divine, Joseph’s brilliant play, takes place over six different Christmases, each two years apart—”

  “It’s a wonderful play,” Marla gushed. Both she and Evelyn seemed determined to boost Joseph’s morale. “It’s about a chorus girl who claws her way to the top.” She raked her long red-painted nails in the air, sending cigarette ashes flying. “Quite authentic. Believe me, I’ve met more than one of those wildcats in my time.”

  “My character Angel is not just ‘one of those wildcats,’ Marla,” Joseph said. “She’s unique. That would be clear if Evelyn would direct the play the way I intended—”

  “Please, Joseph, this really isn’t the time to argue about my direction!” Evelyn shivered. “Come on, let’s head for the Lodge.” She asked the security guards to stay until they were sure the last embers were out. “I’m hungry. What about you?”

  Nancy had been poking through the ruins with a long stick. She stooped to gather up a few half-burned papers. “What are these?” she asked.

  Joseph studied the scraps. “Old scripts,” he pronounced. “Earlier versions of Angel.”

  “Why would they be in the shed?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? Probably got mixed in with a box of props. They’re of no use now.”

  Unless some of them had been used to start the fire, Nancy thought.

  She followed the others down the hill and up the steps into the main room of the Lodge. They were greeted by the smell of something good cooking and the sound of carols playing in the background. The right-hand part of the long room was a dining area with enough tables to seat several dozen people. The left was a lounge containing a pool table, big-screen TV, and comfortable chairs near a stone fireplace, now ablaze with a cheery fire. Ruby candles glowed on the mantel, ropes of evergreen boughs tied with gold bows hung from the rustic wooden beams, and a huge Christmas tree surrounded by presents stood at the far end of the room.

  “That’s a really dumb idea, Sherri,” Fiona Sweeney was saying to the stocky girl who had decorated the prop trees. They were standing near the front door.

  “But it would be so much easier,” Sherri replied in a reasonable tone.

  “I’m not taking the Christmas decorations from here to use on stage.” Fiona put her hands on her hips. “Just because you don’t want to do the extra work—”

  “I didn’t say that. We don’t mind, do we?” Sherri looked at the rest of the crew, who were watching the argument. They all chimed in, agreeing with her.

  “Fine, then keep your brilliant ideas to yourself.” Fiona turned her back on the group and stalked over to the pool table. She racked the balls, then picked up a cue and began to sink them with expert precision.

  Evelyn took Nancy aside. “I don’t know why Fiona has been on edge lately. Usually the crew and apprentices adore her. I’ve considered telling her about the threats, but she’s been so tense . . .”

  “Do you think she might have something to do with the notes?”

  “Fiona? Absolutely not! Never! She’s been with me since the beginning. She came here to work as an apprentice right out of high school.”

  “Have you seen my knitting, Evelyn?” Marla asked, appearing behind Nancy. “I left it here, I’m sure.”

  “Maybe it’s at the house.” Evelyn smiled at Marla, but Nancy could tell she was upset.

  “Soup’s on!” a woman in a long white apron sang out as she pushed through the kitchen doors carrying a heavy tray. Everyone flocked to the dining area. Nancy and her friends joined Evelyn and Marla at a round table set apart from the ones where everyone else had gathered.

  Dinner was served family style. Ned had just passed Nancy a bowl of rich dark stew when the front door opened and two people—one tiny, one tall—blew in with a gust of damp air. The woman threw back the hood of her burgundy cloak and masses of dark curls tumbled around her shoulders. As the tall man helped her remove the cloak, the raven hair spilled over a pink silk blouse, down to the waistband of her perfectly cut slacks.

  “Size two, or I’ll eat my fork,” George muttered in Nancy’s ear.

  Nancy nodded, staring at the young woman. Her perfect face featured a rosebud mouth, almond-shaped olive eyes, and the flawless skin usually seen only in baby lotion commercials. Could she be for real? Nancy caught herself wondering.

  One glance at Ned told Nancy he was thinking the same thing. Nancy changed her focus to the tall man. He, too, was gorgeous, a brown-eyed blond with a strong jaw. He unzipped his wind-breaker, revealing a lean figure. It was Brent of “Ventura Boulevard.”

  “Matt, Laura, you’re just in time for Emily’s famous stew,” Evelyn called.

  “Evelyn, darling, the prop shed!” The dark-haired beauty floated over to the table. “We saw it. How are we going to rehearse tomorrow?”

  “The crew will start working on replacement props tonight,” Evelyn said. “Let’s not spoil Emily’s delicious dinner by worrying about it now. I want you to meet George Fayne and her friends.”

  As Evelyn made the introductions, Nancy marveled over the woman’s ability to be gracious and collected in the face of trouble. She really was an incredible actress, Nancy thought.

  Matt Duncan took the chair next to George. George, normally cool and composed, turned pink when Matt accidentally brushed her arm.

  “I don’t know if I can handle it, Evelyn,” Matt said as he unfolded his napkin. “You know I’ve built my performance around specific props. I pick up the plain white plate in scene one and say, ‘You look worried tonight, Angel.’ I pick up the holly plate in scene two and say, ‘You look lovely tonight, darling.’ Without them, I’m not sure I’ll be able to remember which scene I’m in.”

  “You’ll be fine, Matt.” Evelyn passed him the basket of biscuits. “I guarantee your stage fright will vanish once the curtain rises.”

  “But this is a live audience. No cuts, no retakes. What happens if I go up on my lines?” he said.

  “I’ll help you out, darling,” Laura cooed. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was in The Miracle Worker and Roy Morrison suddenly jumped twenty pages ahead in the script?”

  As Laura told one story after another, Nancy discovered that the young actress had been in show business since she was a child. Laura scattered around the names of the rich and famous like sprinkles on a sugar cookie. Ned watched her, fascinated, and Nancy watched him watching her.

  Nancy was also aware of George’s problem. Sitting next to Brent was apparently more painful than pleasurable for her. She mumbled brief answers when he politely asked her a few questions, then ate her dinner in stiff silence.

  Not that Matt was talkative. He seemed preoccupied and stammered a little whenever Evelyn tried to include him in the conversation. Nancy wondered if he was worried about the play or if something else was bothering him.

  When dessert was served, Laura began asking Marla’s opinion on a scene. “Evelyn agrees that my character would never admit to Michael that she played a dirty trick. I have the script right here. What do you think?”

  Marla searched her pockets. “Now where did I leave my glasses? I know, I must have left them in the theater.”

  “Never mind, you can read it in th
e morning.”

  “No, no, no. I’d better get them now. Maybe that’s where I left my knitting, too.” Marla stubbed out her cigarette and turned to Nancy. “You haven’t seen the Barn yet. Would you like a little tour?”

  “I’d love it.” Nancy glanced at Ned. “Why don’t you come, too?” She squeezed his hand.

  “Uh, sure,” Ned said. “Back in a little while.” He smiled at Laura.

  “I’ll come, too!” George stood up so quickly she almost knocked her chair over. “I’m dying to see the Barn.”

  As they left the Lodge, Nancy breathed deeply. The rain had stopped and the night air smelled damp and woodsy. Marla led them to the main door of the theater, used her key to open the lock, and began snapping on lights.

  “The lobby is small but welcoming, don’t you think? Evelyn did a marvelous job redecorating.” She opened double doors and turned on more lights. Rows of seats stretched down to the stage, where a living room set was half in shadow. A tall metal ladderlike scaffold had been pushed to one side of the set. Nancy assumed the crew climbed up it to adjust the lights high above the stage.

  Marla trotted down the aisle. “I’ll turn on the work lights, so you can see the set. It’s simply magnificent. Follow me.”

  George lingered behind as Nancy and Ned trailed after Marla and went up a side ramp leading to the stage. “Careful of the rug.” Marla paused and pointed, then continued. “They should tape it down—”

  Despite her own warning, Marla then stumbled on the rug. Nancy was on the ramp when she saw her pitch forward.

  Then Nancy heard a loud crash and then a creaking sound.

  Marla shrieked.

  Nancy raised her eyes in time to see the heavy scaffold begin to tip toward the stage and Marla.

  Chapter

  Three

  NANCY AND NED shot forward and grabbed Marla’s ankles as the scaffold continued collapsing toward the floor. Desperately, the two tugged her to the front of the stage.

  The iron bars crashed to the floor just as they were clear, missing Marla by inches.

  Nancy knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”

  Marla opened her eyes. Her face was white. “I think so,” she whispered. “What happened?”

  “You tripped. Did you hit your head when you fell?” Nancy asked.

  Marla touched her forehead. “I don’t know. Maybe . . . no, I don’t think so.”

  “Lie still for a few minutes. You’ve had a nasty shock.” Nancy made her as comfortable as possible with a cushion from the couch on the set.

  Satisfied that Marla only needed time to recover, Nancy asked George to stay with the older woman while she and Ned surveyed the damage. The scaffold had missed the only surviving Christmas tree, but the rest of the set was a wreck. Tables and chairs were crushed, and vases, mirrors, and pictures lay scattered and broken.

  “What a mess,” Ned said, shaking his head.

  Nancy found a switch on a panel just offstage, turned on overhead strips of fluorescent lights, and inspected the scaffold. She noticed a gleam on one of the top bars. “What’s this?” she asked as she felt a thin plastic wire. “Fishing line!”

  She grabbed a flashlight from a table backstage and began to trace the strong transparent wire. She followed it up to a rafter, where it passed through a pulley, then across to another rafter and pulley, and then back down to the floor.

  “Ned, it’s a booby trap,” Nancy said. “Marla must have tripped on the wire where it was stretched across the stage and tied to that weight.” She pointed offstage to a cinder block at the end of the line. The block lay on the floor, but Nancy guessed that it had been perched on the low bench that sat beside it before Marla tripped on the wire and sent the block toppling. “That was the crash we heard,” she told Ned.

  She went over to the cinder block and shone her flashlight directly above it. “The line that starts at the scaffold and goes over the rafters must have been tied to the block, and the dropping block yanked the wire—”

  “Forcing the scaffold to tip,” Ned said, finishing her thought.

  “Someone’s too smart for their own good,” Nancy said.

  The actress was sitting up now, although she was still pale. “Why would anyone want to hurt me?” she asked.

  “We don’t know that the trap was set for you,” Nancy answered. “Who would guess that you’d come back to the theater tonight? It may have been set for someone else—or no one in particular.” She looked at the smashed set. “Maybe it was just another attempt to stop the play.”

  “I wonder if the person who wrote the notes and set the fires is behind this,” George said.

  Nancy turned to her friend. “I don’t know. But we’ve got to tell Evelyn.”

  Marla stood up. “Poor darling—as if she doesn’t have enough problems.”

  “Don’t forget your glasses,” George said. “I found them on an aisle seat.”

  “My glasses?” Marla said vaguely. “Oh, yes. Thank you, dear.”

  When they arrived back at the Lodge, they saw that the crew was getting ready to get to work. Nancy and Marla took Evelyn aside and told her what had happened.

  “Oh, no!” Evelyn put her arm around Marla. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, only a little shaken. I’ll be fine.”

  “Evelyn,” Nancy said. “We have to report this to the police. Marla was almost killed.”

  Evelyn acted stricken. “But they’ll close us down if they find out.” She clasped her hands together tightly. “Oh, Nancy, I know you can get to the bottom of this. I’m counting on you.”

  “I’ll certainly try, but the police—”

  “No police. Please, Nancy.”

  Nancy frowned, then sighed.

  Evelyn suddenly became brisk and determined. “We’ll hold our own investigation. Since we can’t let on that you’re a detective, I’ll ask the questions. Tell me exactly what you need to know.”

  Nancy told her and Evelyn nodded. “Attention, everyone.” She strode to the fireplace. “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Come sit down. I need to talk to you.”

  Mumbling things like “More bad news?” and “What else could go wrong?” the cast and crew sat down.

  Evelyn tried to smile at the apprehensive crew. “The good news is, the sixth Christmas tree has not been damaged. The bad news is, the set has suffered—a bit.” She went on to explain what had happened. Once the shocked reaction had died down, she continued. “The trap was obviously set between the end of rehearsal and dinner. I’ll need to know who was the last out of the theater and where each of you went after leaving it. Also, does anyone recall sticking outdated scripts in the prop shed?”

  One by one Evelyn went around to speak to the company. Nancy took this opportunity to sort out who was who on the crew and what their activities had been before the fire in the prop shed. Fiona had been the last to leave, with Sherri, the stocky girl who was stage-managing the play. They had turned off the lights in the theater and joined the set designer, Jill, in the production office off the lobby to figure out how to manage a few fast set and prop changes. The company’s two young apprentices were also there. Jerry, the lanky guy who was in charge of lights, had gone to the Lodge to play pool with Ben, chief of set construction, and Howie, the box office manager.

  Laura had been in her cabin, conferring with Liz, the costume designer. Marla had also been in the Lodge. She’d watched the pool game for a while, then decided to read by the fire. Realizing she’d left her glasses at the Barn, she went out into the rain to get them. This was when she had seen the shed on fire. After alerting the crew and guards, she ran to tell Evelyn.

  Only Joseph Brunner, who claimed to be in his cabin working on rewrites, and Matt Duncan, who’d driven Evelyn’s car to the pharmacy in town, were without alibis.

  No one remembered putting old scripts in the shed, but everyone agreed it was possible they’d been shoved in a box of props.

  As soon as the questioning was over, Fi
ona hurried her crew to the Barn to see what could be salvaged. After checking out the damage, Matt, Joseph, and Laura decided a game of bridge would help them relax.

  “Ned,” Laura asked sweetly, “are you good at bridge? I’m really pretty bad at it, but if you’ll be my partner, I know we could win.”

  “Okay,” Ned said affably, missing the look that Nancy threw him.

  “Would you like to unpack?” Evelyn asked George and Nancy. “I’ll show you to your cabins.”

  “I’d rather check out the computer in the office first, if you don’t mind.” Nancy’s tone implied that some people had important work to do. Ned didn’t seem to hear her.

  “All right.” Evelyn took Nancy and George back up to the Barn and into the small production office off the lobby. She showed Nancy the computer, then went into the theater to confer with Fiona while Nancy experimented with the printer.

  “Everything is identical to the anonymous notes,” Nancy told George. “Of course, this printer is a popular brand, so the notes could have been run off anywhere else.”

  “It must be someone from outside,” George said. “No one in the company would have a motive for destroying the play or the Red Barn.”

  “What about the neighbor that Evelyn mentioned—Charles Ferguson?” Nancy asked. “He wants to buy this place, and she said she’d have to sell if the play was canceled. I want to talk to him.”

  They found Evelyn onstage, assessing the damage with Fiona, who was in a surprisingly good mood.

  After the women finished, Evelyn grabbed some flashlights and helped Nancy and George unload their stuff. She took them down a narrow wooded path along the river to the cabins where they’d be staying. All the crew and cast members were housed in these cabins.

  “I was surprised that Fiona wasn’t angry any longer,” Nancy told Evelyn. “You’d think the condition of the set would have upset her.”

  Evelyn chuckled. “That’s our Fiona. She’s a real pro and loves a challenge.”

  “You don’t think . . .” Nancy paused to phrase her question carefully. “That she was pleased to see the set destroyed? That maybe she doesn’t want this play to open?”