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  “Wish me luck, Nancy,” he said once he was close. “I’ve never acted before.”

  “Break a leg, Mr. Safer,” I told him.

  “Please, Nancy—we’ve been friends for a while. Call me Harold.”

  He gave me a huge smile and hurried toward the soundstage. Now why couldn’t I be more like him, cool and composed? Harold and I were in the same situation; neither of us had any experience as actors, and both of us had roles in the movie. But when I was afraid, he was excited.

  What was his secret? I decided to follow him. I had a while before my scenes. I thought maybe it would ease my mind to watch Harold’s introduction to the acting world.

  When I got to the soundstage, one of the production assistants was just about to close the door. I just made it into the darkness inside. The soundstage was a big empty warehouse that had been turned into a movie set. The two locations constructed here were called standing sets. That meant that these sets stayed up throughout the duration of the shoot. When filming took place “on location”—out in actual buildings and places around River Heights—the construction crew built a set around whatever was there already. Then, when we were done filming, the crew tore down everything they had built, leaving the place just as they had found it. But the sets for the places we were going to use the most, the Mahoney Anvil office and the Rackham Gang’s cabin, had been created here, inside the soundstage. It was pretty impressive. Every time I walked into either place, I felt as if I was in a real building. Every last detail was perfect.

  When the crew was filming a scene, everyone inside the giant warehouse had to be completely silent. The sophisticated microphones used by the sound crew could pick up even the smallest noise. So whenever the director called “Action,” everyone stopped what they were doing and waited until they heard “Cut!” In the time in between, no one was allowed to talk. In fact, people weren’t even allowed to walk because their footsteps might echo too loudly inside the big building. I had just enough time to make it to the Mahoney Anvil office set before I heard Morris’s distinctive, gravelly voice yell, “Mahoney work scene, take one. Action!”

  I caught my breath, afraid to move. What if I knocked into something or stumbled over one of the thick electrical cables on the floor? I’ve been known to be a klutz from time to time. But soon enough my fear of making noise was forgotten. I couldn’t think of anything except how amazing Harold was! He was a natural. I’d seen this scene before, when it was shot with the famous Herman Houseman in the role. And Harold Safer was better!

  From the second the scene began, he seemed like a different person. His usual nervous mannerisms were gone. He walked with a swagger and he spoke with the booming, commanding voice of a man who created an empire out of making anvils. I was looking at Harold’s familiar face, but all I saw was Ethan Mahoney.

  Without moving, I took a look around at all the other people watching. There were at least twenty people standing nearby—all the camera and sound crew members, the makeup and hair people, an assistant director, and lots of production assistants. And on each face I saw the same astonished expression. Nobody had expected it, but Harold was a terrific actor.

  “That payment had better be here in two days,” Harold-as-Ethan said, ending the scene.

  “And … cut!” Morris called.

  Instantly the whole group burst into applause. Even Morris was clapping. Harold looked confused for a moment, until he realized the cheering was for him. He took a deep, theatrical bow.

  “That was wonderful,” Morris said when the clapping died down. “Now we’ll do another take so we can shoot close-ups of your expressions, Harold. Everyone, back to your first marks.”

  Harold and the other actors hurried back to where they were supposed to stand at the beginning of the scene. “Action,” called Morris.

  The scene began again, and it was every bit as good as the first time. I wished George and Bess were here to see Harold’s triumph. I was so wrapped up in the scene that I didn’t notice Julie Blattberg, the sound chief, leave her post at the giant sound board. But suddenly I spotted her pushing her way toward Morris. She lifted one of his earphones and said something to him.

  “Cut!” Morris yelled immediately.

  The camera operators stopped filming and the actors relaxed. Everyone looked at Morris to see why he’d made them pause, but I already knew. As soon as the actors had stopped talking, I’d heard sirens wailing in the distance. They weren’t very loud, but I knew that Julie had caught them. She must have been worried that the microphones would pick up the sound, and sirens like those would be completely out of place in a movie that was set almost a hundred years ago.

  “Let’s wait for the sirens to pass,” Julie called out.

  The makeup artist, Pam, rushed over to Harold and began powdering his face while her associate, a muscular guy named Degas, smoothed down a few strands of Harold’s thick dark hair. I smiled. Harold obviously loved all the attention.

  A second siren joined the first one. I stepped away from the small crowd around the set and listened more closely. The sirens droned on, each of them giving a little whoop before starting up again. “It’s not the police, it’s the fire squad,” I whispered. The sirens were similar, but I had a knack for noticing little details. And I definitely knew the difference between police sirens and fire sirens.

  A third siren joined in. I gasped in surprise. Three fire trucks?

  I glanced over at Harold Safer, the only other River Heights local on the set. He didn’t look happy anymore; he looked worried. His gaze met mine. “Must be a pretty big fire,” he said in a worried tone. I knew what he was thinking. He was worried about his cheese shop and his house. Now that I thought about it, I was worried about my house too. From inside this windowless building, it was impossible to tell what direction the sirens were coming from. They could be in any neighborhood in town. It could be Harold’s business on fire. Or George’s house. Or Bess’s.

  Or mine.

  Burning Down the House

  The sirens stopped after another minute or two, but my nervousness continued. Morris called for everyone to start the scene one more time. As the camera operators and the actors scrambled back to their first marks, I took advantage of the noise and confusion to slip out of the soundstage before he ordered quiet again. The delay in filming meant my scene wouldn’t begin shooting for a bit longer than we’d originally planned. I would have time to go into town and check out the fire.

  I was anxious to discover where the blaze was, to make sure none of my friends’ houses were in danger. And I thought getting away from the set might ease my stage fright. If I had something else to think about, I wouldn’t be able to spend all my time worrying.

  I decided to see if Bess or George wanted to come with me. I knew George was going to be in the editing trailer this morning, working on one of the giant computers that the editors used to process the shots. I headed that way, knocked on the trailer door, and let myself in.

  “George?” I called. “Do you have time to investigate the fire with me?”

  Right away I knew the answer was no. George was working three computers at once—two laptops, and the big editing machine. I’m pretty good at figuring out how to solve my own basic computer problems, and I can find a lot of stuff online, but George is a true wiz. Once she gets going on a computer problem, her fingers fly across the keyboard and pump out computer language so fast that I can’t even figure out what she’s doing half the time.

  This time, she didn’t even hear me. “George?” I repeated.

  She glanced up and gave me a fast smile. “Hey, Nance,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m going to take a drive and see where the fire is,” I told her.

  But George’s eyes had already returned to the screen of the big computer. “What fire?” she mumbled.

  “The one that had at least three fire engines rushing to put it out,” I said. “Didn’t you hear all those sirens?”

  “Uh, no,” Geor
ge said slowly. I could tell that her attention was focused on the computers, not our conversation. She probably didn’t even know what she was saying no to!

  “Well, it’s a big fire,” I went on. “I’m going to take a drive and make sure it’s not at any of our houses. I think I’ll run past Harold’s cheese shop too. That way I can set his mind at ease so he can concentrate on his acting.”

  “Okay, have fun,” George said. I couldn’t help a smile. She really hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

  “See you later,” I told her. But George wasn’t even pretending to listen anymore. She was completely wrapped up in solving her computer problems. It was time to try Bess.

  I found her in the second soundstage, working on the Rackhams’ cabin set. She was perched high up on a ladder as Luther Eldridge called out instructions. I walked over to join him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Oh, Nancy, it’s a disaster!” he cried. “When Bess removed the molding around the top of the walls, we discovered that whoever built this set didn’t put anything behind the moldings.”

  I glanced around. The cabin set looked just like a real cabin, except that it didn’t have a roof. On one side Bess had taken down the molding at the top of the wall. Now that wall was about five inches shorter than it had been with the molding. It looked ridiculous. With the carved wooden molding, the walls had given the illusion that there was a ceiling. On camera the room would look like a regular, finished cabin. But now, with the short walls, it would look more like a child’s play fort.

  “It looks like we’ll have to put the molding back up,” I said.

  “But we can’t!” Luther sounded horrified. “A rustic nineteenth-century cabin wouldn’t have such things. Carved moldings were for the large houses of wealthy people.”

  I took a look at Bess. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, and her jeans and T-shirt were covered in sawdust, but there was a determined gleam in her eyes. “We’ll figure something out,” she said confidently.

  Clearly this was not the time to ask Bess to come for a drive with me. “Well, good luck, you two,” I said, backing out of the set.

  I was on my own. I made my way to the car and started the ten-minute drive into River Heights. To my surprise, I didn’t even see smoke. I drove through the center of town and glanced at Harold’s cheese shop. It was fine. So were all the other shops and offices nearby. I continued on to my neighborhood, then drove past George’s house, and Bess’s. There was no fire to be seen.

  There was only one place I hadn’t looked yet—Mission Hill. That’s the neighborhood that puts the “heights” in River Heights. The hill rises high over the town, and from the top there are amazing views of the Muskoka River. It’s the most expensive area in the whole city. I started up the winding road that led to the top of the hill. Immediately I could tell I was on the right trail.

  Police cars and fire trucks lined the side of the road, and thick brown smoke wafted through the air. The houses in this neighborhood were set far back from the road, and each place was surrounded by a lot of property. I found the flaming house about half a mile from the top of the hill. It was a beautiful old Georgian-style house with tall columns in front of the entrance. And it was being devoured by angry orange flames that leaped high into the sky. Heavy smoke poured from the fire, billowing across the manicured front lawn.

  I pulled my car to the side of the street and got out. Three separate teams of firefighters held their powerful hoses on the blaze, but the water didn’t seem to be doing much good.

  River Heights Fire Chief Cody Cloud stood near the curb, commanding his firefighters through the walkie-talkie in his hand. He frowned when he saw me.

  “Nancy, what are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Hi, Chief Cody,” I said. “We heard the sirens on the set and I thought I’d take a drive out just to make sure the fire wasn’t at any of our houses.”

  “No, the owner of this house isn’t involved in your film,” Chief Cody said. He pointed out a middle-aged man on the front lawn. The man was racing back and forth in front of the burning house, panicked.

  From the way the owner was acting, I assumed he was worried about a family member who hadn’t escaped the fire. “Is there someone else inside?” I asked Chief Cody.

  “Nope,” he said. “That guy lives here alone. He’s worried about his stuff.”

  At that moment the owner gave up on his pacing and ran over to where we were standing. “Aren’t you in charge here?” he demanded.

  Chief Cody nodded. “We’re doing everything we can, Jeffrey,” he said in a soothing voice.

  “It’s not enough,” Jeffrey snapped. “All of my furniture is going to be ruined.”

  “We’re fighting to save your house,” Chief Cody explained. “The furniture can be replaced.”

  “No, it can’t!” Jeffrey cried, distraught. “Don’t you get it? The house is filled with antique furniture. I put all my money into the furniture collection. If it’s destroyed, I’ll be ruined. I’ll be destitute!”

  “Now, Jeffrey—” the fire chief began.

  “They’re spraying water into the house!” Jeffrey shrieked, pointing to a team of firefighters who had just turned their hoses toward the one part of the house that wasn’t burning.

  “They’re wetting everything down to try to keep the fire from spreading,” Chief Cody explained.

  But Jeffrey seemed even more agitated than before. “Water will ruin my furniture just as much as fire will!” he cried.

  I could tell Chief Cody was losing patience with this owner. After all, his firefighters were putting themselves in danger trying to save the house, and Jeffrey didn’t seem grateful at all.

  “Maybe that team can stop wetting things down and just concentrate on getting some of the furniture out?” I suggested.

  Jeffrey looked at me, noticing me for the first time. His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “That would mean sending firefighters into a burning building,” Chief Cody replied. “It’s a dangerous thing to do. We go inside to save people and animals, but not to save furniture.”

  “The room over there isn’t on fire,” I said, gesturing to what looked like a large hall or living room. It stuck out from the main structure, as if it had been added on after the house was built. “And the wind is blowing the other way. I’ll bet some of the firefighters could get the furniture out of there without the fire spreading to them.”

  Chief Cody shot Jeffrey an annoyed look. “I guess we might as well try,” he said. He turned away and began barking orders to his team through the walkie-talkie.

  “I’m so sorry about your house,” I told Jeffrey. “How did the fire start?” He gazed at me blankly. I figured he was probably in shock. “I’m Nancy Drew,” I added. “I’d like to help in any way I can.”

  “Th-Thank you,” he stammered.

  “Here’s a piece,” called one of the firefighters. Jeffrey turned and ran toward the large armoire that two men had just lugged from the house. It was badly damaged by the smoke and heat, but still in good enough condition that it could be restored to its original state. I felt a little bit better looking at it—at least Jeffrey wouldn’t lose all of his antique collection.

  But he acted as if it was burned beyond recognition. “It’s ruined!” he cried. “Utterly destroyed!” Jeffrey threw his arms around the armoire in a dramatic gesture. I noticed him plucking at something on the back of it as he embraced the piece of furniture.

  “Get out. Get out now,” I heard Chief Cody command. I looked back at the house to see that the wind had changed. The dark smoke that had been blowing away from the addition had begun blowing in the opposite direction. Clouds of toxic smoke and smoldering embers were now billowing right onto the one part of the house that had seemed safe.

  I glanced over at Jeffrey. The poor guy had the worst luck in the world. It didn’t look like they’d be able to save any more of his valuable furniture. The two firefighter
s who had carried the armoire came running back out of the house just as a spark hit the roof of the addition and set it aflame. One of them went over to Jeffrey and handed him a laptop computer.

  “I was able to grab this,” the firefighter said. “Sorry we couldn’t save more.”

  Jeffrey took the computer and looked at it for a moment. Then he hurled it back toward the burning house with a bellow of anger. “It’s useless!” he cried. “This is all useless!” He stormed off toward a black SUV parked in the driveway. He got in and peeled out without saying another word.

  I shot a look at Chief Cody to see how he was handling Jeffrey’s anger. But the chief was busy organizing a plan to keep the fire from spreading to the nearby trees and houses. He stood surrounded by about five firefighters.

  The house was still in the midst of bright orange flames that leaped into the sky. I could tell that the entire place would be destroyed. My eyes were beginning to sting from all the heat and smoke. It was time for me to leave. But as I turned to go, I realized that something was nagging at the back of my mind. What had Jeffrey been plucking at on the back of his armoire?

  The chief and his colleagues were still huddled together. No one was paying any attention to me. So I pulled the collar of my shirt up over my mouth and nose to block out the smoke. Then I took a few steps toward the house, and the armoire, which had been abandoned on the front lawn. I ducked behind the large chest to see if I could find anything on the back. To my surprise, the back of the armoire was an entirely different color from the front. The piece had appeared to be made of rich reddish cherrywood. But the back was beige and made of pressed wood—usually the mark of less expensive furniture. And right in the middle of the pressed wood was a big sticker that read O’REILLY BROS.

  I frowned and leaned in closer. The edges of the sticker were singed and the smoke had blackened the lettering. But I could still read it. “O’Reilly Brothers furniture?” I murmured. “How odd.”