A Script for Danger Page 3

  “Okay, so what about Sal?” I asked. “He had the easiest access to the chocolate syrup and the ketchup, as well as the coffee machine.”

  “But he wasn’t around when the firecrackers went off,” Bess countered. “Remember? He got all huffy and stormed off.”

  “Yeah, but maybe he was cutting the hole in the costume trailer while we were all distracted by the fireworks!” George pointed out.

  “It’s also possible that there is more than one suspect,” I added. “For now, let’s focus on motive, since any number of people could have rigged one or both stunts.”

  Just then the costume trailer door opened and Brian and Alex stepped out. Brian looked as handsome as ever in a clean green sweater, distressed jeans, and worn-out work boots. Omar hovered nearby, probably ready to whisk him away somewhere, but Brian stopped to speak to us first.

  “Hi, I’m Brian. Alex just told me that you’re writing an article about the film.”

  Bess had suddenly lost the ability to speak, so I offered an introduction. “Yes, I’m Nancy. This is George, and over there is Bess.”

  “Have you spoken to my publicist?” Brian asked. “Any official interviews with me have to go through her first.”

  “Our editor will handle it,” George said quickly. “For now, we’re just taking it all in.”

  Bess only nodded in agreement.

  “It’s a crazy business, isn’t it?” Brian mused. “When I was in drama school, I had a professor who told me, ‘If you can see yourself doing anything else, you should be doing that instead. Making movies is only for people who feel as though they don’t have a choice.’ ” His voice was honey smooth, and his commitment to his craft was undeniable. “Anyway, what are your impressions so far?”

  “It’s been a little more, um, eventful than I expected,” George joked, “but the cinnamon buns are top-notch!”

  In a more serious tone, I asked, “Aren’t you scared, Brian? I mean, first the explosions, then the fake blood.”

  Brian chuckled. “Nah”—he waved his hand—“probably just some bored kid trying to get attention.”

  “You’ve seen this kind of thing before?” I asked. Brian paused for a moment, as if he were pondering a response.

  Omar piped up, “No matter how organized a shoot is, something always goes wrong, huh, Brian?”

  “Oh, sure. On every set there’s always something,” he repeated.

  “So you don’t think any of this is unusual?” I asked.

  Brian raised an eyebrow. “I hope you write a real story about this movie, Nancy, instead of focusing on any dumb pranks,” he said quietly.

  I wanted to ask if he knew of anyone who might want to harass him, but Omar’s walkie-talkie crackled first. “We’re ready for a walk-through.”

  “That’s my cue. See you around, girls. Bye, Bess.” Brian looked right at her.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, George and I turned to Bess, who seemed to be having trouble breathing again.

  George poked her. “Are you okay?”

  Bess found her voice and choked her words out. “How can you be so calm? He’s perfect.”

  George, for once, nodded her head amiably. “He’s nice; I’ll give you that. Especially when you talk to him, right, Nancy?”

  Normally I would have joined George in teasing Bess, but right now, I had too much on my mind.

  I also noticed that Raina was finally alone in the costume trailer.

  “I’m going to try to dig up more about the bloody sweater,” I told my friends. “Can you keep an eye out here to see if anything else strange happens?” George and Bess nodded.

  I knocked on the trailer door, and when I didn’t hear a response, pushed the door open gently. Raina was inside, ironing a shirt, and I noticed that her hands were shaking. She jumped about a foot in the air when she saw me standing there.

  “Hi, Raina. Sorry to startle you!” I apologized. “I’m Nancy Drew, a friend of Alex’s, and I’m writing an article about the movie. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  She let out a deep breath.

  “I haven’t been a costume assistant for that long,” she confessed. “I’ve never worked with a star as big as Brian. All this is sort of new to me.”

  “So did you see anyone unexpected around the trailer before you noticed the blood?” I asked.

  Raina shook her head. “Nope. It was just the usual: production assistants, actors, and a few extras. If there aren’t any members of the costume department around, we usually lock up the trailer.”

  “So when do you think someone might have cut the hole and poured the fake blood?” I questioned.

  “Well.” Raina seemed to think for a moment. “I guess it could have been during the chaos after the fireworks . . . yes!” She seemed to grow more confident. “After the explosion, I ran all the way across the parking lot to see what was going on. That would have been enough time for someone to climb up onto the roof and cut the hole in the ceiling.”

  That confirmed George’s earlier hunch. The person responsible for putting the blood on Brian’s costume wasn’t in any of the photographs that Ned had taken for the Bugle.

  Raina added, “You know, I wouldn’t have even noticed the fake blood if it hadn’t been all over the first costume I pulled.” She motioned to the racks of clothing that lined the walls of the trailer.

  It was true; if the hole in the ceiling had been slightly to the left or the right, the fake blood would have fallen on one of the other costumes instead of Brian’s. And most of those were in plastic garment bags.

  “That means that either it’s a coincidence, or . . .”

  “Or whoever did it knew which costume was coming up first,” Raina finished.

  I noticed that every single costume was clearly labeled with the scene number, character name, and shoot day. It wouldn’t have been that hard to figure out, if someone knew where to look.

  Just then Bess popped her head in the trailer door, panting like she’d been running. “Nancy, they’re about to start shooting. We should probably get to the set.”

  The first shot seemed like a prime opportunity for the saboteur to strike again, if he or she was going to. I ducked out of the costume trailer.

  “See you later, Raina.” She waved meekly, as if she did not want to be left alone.

  When George, Bess, and I arrived “on set,” which was what everyone was calling the entrance to the train station, Nysa handed us each a copy of today’s “sides,” which, she explained, are miniature screenplay pages corresponding to the scenes that are going to be filmed each day.

  In this particular scene, Zoë and Brian—or should I say, Malika and Dylan, the brother-sister duo—were exiting the train station in their small Midwestern hometown, having just left an exciting life in the big city. Equipment crowded the station’s doorway, and there were tape marks on the floor where Zoë and Brian would stand to deliver their lines.

  “Jeez, every scene takes so much planning!” Bess observed, reading my thoughts.

  “Quiet on set!” Nysa bellowed.

  Everyone quickly fell silent. After a series of military-sounding commands, a camera assistant announced, “Scene Four A-One, Shot One, Take One,” and slapped a slate. I had never seen someone do that in real life.

  “Aaaand . . . ACTION!” Alex belted.

  Upon Alex’s command, Zoë and Brian walked through the station’s doors and spoke lines about how strange it was to be back home.

  While the camera rolled, I noticed Lali speaking animatedly with someone near the trailers, but I couldn’t quite make out who it was.

  “I’m going to see what’s going on over there,” I whispered to George and Bess, pointing in Lali’s direction.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. I mean, Lali wouldn’t sabotage her own film,” Bess said softly. “Why don’t you stay and watch?”

  I wanted to, but I had to find out who Lali was so heatedly speaking with; it could be a viable suspect.

 
; I made my way back over to the trailers. As I drew closer, I recognized the person who was confronting Lali: the woman in the hat and colorful outfit whom I had seen with Mayor Scarlett before the firecrackers went off.

  I hid behind the bathroom trailer and listened to their conversation.

  “But Ms. Ely, the mayor has already given us permission to use the River Heights fairgrounds for our big graveyard scene,” Lali explained. “The graveyard is going to be very complicated to build and we need at least two days to get it set up. I wish I could help you out, but my hands are tied.”

  Ms. Ely? I thought. I remembered overhearing the mayor speaking about a Roberta Ely earlier in the day.

  “Don’t you have any respect for this town? We have the Fourth of July Carnival on those fairgrounds every year! And now we have to relocate to the high school football field because your silly little scene needs to ‘set up’ on a national holiday!” If smoke could actually come out of nostrils the way it does in cartoons, I was sure that Ms. Ely’s nose would look like a steamboat.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Ely, a lot of planning goes into our shoot schedule. We just can’t change our dates.” I was impressed by how collected Lali appeared, considering the number of crises she had already dealt with—and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

  Ms. Ely, however, did not take this news well. She stormed away from Lali, shouting over her shoulder, “You’ll be sorry, Lily Lollipop or whatever your name is! Your days in River Heights are numbered!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  An Inside Job

  “. . . AND CUT! I THINK WE’VE got it. Moving on.” Alex jumped up from his chair and started talking to the cinematographer. I had been bursting with my news about Roberta Ely for at least a half hour, but I had to wait until the camera had stopped rolling to approach Bess and George. We had quickly learned that even the quietest whisper or footstep was enough to draw a stern stare from Nysa.

  “So this Roberta Ely woman actually threatened Lali?” Bess shook her head in disbelief after I updated them.

  George said thoughtfully, “It looks like she has a motive for sabotage.”

  “From what Mayor Scarlett said, this isn’t the first time Roberta Ely has been complaining about the film shoot,” I added.

  “Maybe she got fed up and decided to take matters into her own hands,” Bess said.

  “So what now?” George asked. The already familiar sound of Nysa calling out, “Quiet on set!” stopped me from answering.

  Bess had shifted her focus back to Brian, while I contemplated the next step in our investigation. It definitely seemed like the saboteur wanted his or her pranks to be noticed. Even though I had heard Roberta Ely openly threaten Lali, she didn’t quite fit the profile that I was starting to build in my mind. Our suspect had managed to avoid detection while pulling off two major pranks in the midst of dozens of people, which required a certain amount of slyness. And yet from what I had seen, Roberta Ely demanded attention from everyone she met.

  I decided to switch gears and try for an “interview” with Sal. He was certainly bitter about something, but was it enough to make him want to sabotage this film? As soon as Nysa yelled, “Cut!” I made my way to the craft service table. George ran after me.

  “Where are you going? You can’t leave me alone with Brian Newsome’s one-person cheerleading squad!”

  After I had filled her in on my plan, she fell into step beside me. After all, George wasn’t the type to let me venture to the craft service table alone.

  When we got there, though, Sal was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where is he?” I wondered aloud.

  “Didn’t you hear them call lunch?” came a gruff voice a few moments later. We turned to see Sal, his signature scowl etched across his face, approaching from behind us. From anyone else, the question would have seemed perfectly innocent, but Sal’s tone was downright accusatory.

  “Hi there. I’m Nancy,” I said confidently, “and this is my friend George. We’re writing an article about the film and we wanted to know if you’d be up for answering some questions.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why me?” he asked suspiciously.

  “We’re interested in every aspect of a film set,” I riffed.

  But Sal wasn’t having it. In fact, he only seemed to be getting angrier. “I don’t have time for this. Just leave me alone and let me do my job!” he snapped.

  At that very moment, Nysa came scuttling toward us. “Hey, Nancy. Alex is looking for you.” She eyed Sal. “Sal! Give me back the stapler! We need to assemble tomorrow’s call sheets.”

  “I returned it to the production office,” he insisted. “You kids need to stop blaming me for your lack of preparation.”

  Nysa remained calm. “Cool, thanks. Have a nice day, Sal.”

  Sal just grunted and wandered away.

  “Was Sal being rude to you?” Nysa asked, but didn’t even wait for an answer. “Just ignore him. That’s what I try to do.”

  “What’s his problem?” I asked. “He seems to really hate being here.”

  “It’s weird,” Nysa began, “because I’ve heard that he accepts every film job he’s offered. Either he gets some kind of satisfaction from being mean or he really needs the money.”

  I considered that. If either of Nysa’s guesses were correct, Sal wouldn’t be a viable suspect. In order for him to continue torturing people or to keep receiving paychecks, the film shoot would have to continue. It wasn’t enough to bump Sal off my radar, but at this point it was more important for me to discuss the case with Alex.

  As George and I followed Nysa across the parking lot, I spotted a piece of paper lying on the asphalt and stopped to pick it up.

  “What’s that?” George inquired.

  Nysa stopped and turned around. “Oh, that’s a call sheet,” she said when she saw the paper in my hand. “It tells you everything about a specific day on set. What time everyone has to be there, what scenes we’re shooting, which actors are involved, how many extras we need.”

  George peered over my shoulder. “You make one of these every day?”

  Nysa nodded. “Well, not me, personally, but someone on my team does. Every crew member gets one for the following day before he or she leaves the set.”

  “Can I keep this one?” I asked.

  Nysa nodded, then led us to the lawn behind the train station, where several picnic tables had been set up in the middle of a vast buffet. A pair of tents protected the food and the crew from the hot sun.

  “All right, girls, catch you later!” Nysa exclaimed before rushing off, barking commands into her walkie-talkie.

  George eagerly got in line for food, her eyes gleaming. Bess joined us seconds later.

  “Where have you guys been?!” she exclaimed. “You missed an amazing performance from Brian.”

  “Oh, you know,” I replied, trying to sound as vague as possible in the presence of so many unknown ears, “just poking around.”

  As we served ourselves pasta, potatoes, vegetables, and meat from large trays, I carefully observed the various crew members, thinking about the lengthy list on the back of Nysa’s call sheet. There had been at least one hundred people on there, not including the extras, security guards, and reception guests. We might have identified a few potential suspects, but we hadn’t even interacted with most of the cast and crew.

  When George finally joined Bess and me, her plate was piled at least six inches high.

  “You’re like a bottomless pit!” Bess cried.

  Alex beckoned us to his table at the edge of the tent, and we hurried over to join him. Brian sat across from Alex, while Cora was perched on the edge of the bench, fiddling with some settings on her camera.

  “Have a seat, girls!” Alex offered.

  George plopped down and promptly began eating her turkey burger. I put my tray down next to hers, but Bess just stood frozen in place, staring at Brian. He was drinking some kind of green, lumpy liquid from a clear thermos.

  “Bess,
come on!” I called, suppressing a smile. “You can squeeze in next to me.”

  “Hey, Cora, you’d better give me copies of all this footage you’re taking, okay? I’ll give you my e-mail,” Brian said.

  Cora beamed. “Absolutely, Brian!”

  I raised an eyebrow in George’s direction as if to say, oh, so Brian can see her footage, but nobody else can!

  “Whoa, guys. I don’t want any behind-the-scenes stuff out there yet!” Alex exclaimed.

  “Obviously, Alex,” Cora replied defiantly. “Brian meant after the shoot, right?”

  “Of course,” Brian said. He finished his green drink. “I’m all done . . . you can have my seat.” He stood up and gave Bess a friendly nod. “I have to go over my lines, anyway.”

  “Um. Thank you?” Bess responded breathlessly.

  Just as she sat down, I noticed that Brian had left something behind: a copy of The Hamilton Inn screenplay with his name printed in black ink on the cover page. There was a comic book sticking out of it, and I could see the words No. 1 of the Blue Ranger Series printed in one corner. I tried to get a closer look, but a hand quickly moved in and scooped up the script.

  “There it is! I was so worried.” I recognized the anxious, well-dressed young man I’d seen hanging around Brian earlier.

  “You’re Omar, right?” I asked, and introduced myself.

  He nodded, keeping one eye on his phone. “Omar Billings. I’m Brian’s assistant. Oh! That, too.” He grabbed the empty thermos with his free hand.

  “What is that green goop, anyway?” George asked.

  “It’s a kale-bee-pollen-oatmeal-flax smoothie!” Omar snapped, as if it were the most common thing in the world. “Brian says these help him stay fit and focused.”

  Alex swallowed a bite of his hamburger. “I keep telling Brian that he doesn’t need to bulk up for this role; his character is just supposed to be a regular guy! But he insists on looking like a movie star anyway.”

  Omar seemed to take Alex’s comment as criticism. “He is a movie star!” he fired back. “What do you expect?”