Lights, Camera . . . Read online

  “One of the local mechanical geniuses is helping us out,” he continued, smiling at Bess, “so we hope to be back to full power soon. Meanwhile, I’m changing the schedule slightly. It’s nine forty-five now.”

  A huge belch exploded from my left, and several people at the nearby tables giggled. “Oops, sorry,” Luke murmured with a sheepish smile. “Shouldn’t have had that second plate, I guess.” He ducked his head down and burped again into his napkin.

  “At eleven we’ll rehearse scene twenty-one at the Rackham cabin in the woods. I need all cast and crew for that scene to report to the shuttles in one hour. Don’t be late, guys. We want to do some light takes with the noon sun.” He started to leave the little stage, but paused for a moment, looking down at someone sitting at the table in front.

  “Hey, are you feeling all right? You don’t look so . . .” His words trailed off, then burst through the bullhorn again. “We need help up here!” he yelled, jumping off the stage. I stood up.

  “Someone’s having a heart attack!” Morris yelled. “Medic!”

  I started toward the front of the hall. I’m certified in CPR, and I knew I might need to put some of that training to use. People around the room began jumping up and crowding around the area where Morris stood. George tapped 911 into her cell phone.

  I’d only gone a couple of yards when I heard Bess’s voice behind me. “Nancy! Wait,” she called. “It’s Luther!”

  I suddenly understood what people meant when they said they “stopped cold.” When I heard Bess’s voice, I felt a chill rattle down my back. I rushed back to the table. Luther was doubled over in his chair and his face had turned a pale greenish gray. With a grinding groan, he dropped off the chair onto his knees. Then he crumpled to the floor.

  Cut!

  Luther!” I knelt beside him. His face was still an ashy color, but his eyes were open. “My stomach,” he moaned. “Terrible cramp . . . Really hurts.”

  “Get one of the medics over here,” I told George. “He needs help right away.”

  As George raced off to find one of the on-site medical staffers, I heard another groan nearby. Luke Alvarez tumbled to the floor, overturning his chair with a metallic clang.

  “Nancy, there’s something awful going on,” Bess said. “Lots of people are getting sick. A few are even unconscious.”

  “It looks like food poisoning,” I told her. “Check on Luke, will you? Just try to keep him comfortable. If he’s chilled, throw a jacket or a tablecloth over him. Don’t give him anything to eat or drink—not even water.”

  Near the entrance Morris and his security team were working with the company doctor and nurse to set up triage. They grouped all those who had become ill so that when the ambulances arrived, the sickest people would be treated first.

  For the second time in two days, I heard emergency vehicle sirens driving into the compound. Within minutes George returned with one of the emergency medical technicians—EMTs—who’d arrived in an ambulance. I left Bess with the EMT to care for Luke and Luther, and asked George to come with me. We headed first for the kitchen. Grabbing bags of small plastic cups and lids, we went back out to the serving tables and the breakfast buffet.

  “We need two sets of samples from everything,” I told George. “Everything on the buffet: eggs, sausage, yogurt, waffles, cream cheese, burritos, fruit, protein smoothies—even the bagels and sweet rolls, the syrup and salsa, the mustard and the water. We need a set for the paramedics, and I want one set for me.”

  I knew it would be important to have the samples so that doctors could determine just what type of food poisoning everyone had contracted. It would also help determine what medicines and treatments to use.

  We worked quickly, spooning samples into the cups and labeling them. Then we snapped on the lids and dropped the cups into two bags. By the time we’d finished, the most seriously ill—including Luther and Luke—had been taken by ambulance to hospitals in the area. Others were being taken by shuttles, and some were evaluated on site and released, with suggestions to see their own doctors for possible treatment.

  “What’s going on, Nancy?” George asked when we had finished giving all the samples to the EMTs. “Was this just bad food, or are we looking at more sabotage here?”

  “We’re going to find out soon, I hope,” I answered. “That’s why I’m getting my own samples. One set’s for the doctors, one’s for the criminal investigators.”

  “So your instincts are telling you this was intentional.”

  “My instincts are telling me to not take anything for granted, and to consider this a crime until I find out the truth. If this poisoning was intentional, whoever is doing this has crossed the line.”

  “I fired the caterers,” Morris said, joining us as we watched the last vehicles leave for town. The three of us took seats at one of the tables. “They said they weren’t to blame, but I can’t take any chances. It’s hard enough to get insurance for this production as it is.”

  “I agree,” I said. “Even if they were supercareful with their refrigeration and preparation, it looks like some-thing—or someone—got to the food. So that means they weren’t careful enough about keeping everything clean, or their security wasn’t tight enough.”

  Morris sighed and nodded. “I see you’re thinking the same thing I am. It was no accident.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Nancy, we have to get this figured out. The doctors have shut me down for at least a couple of days. It’ll take that long for the sickest people to get completely well—and that includes some of the stars of the film. Jane says it will also take that long to finish the security investigation. She said there’s an outside chance it wasn’t the food.”

  “You mean it might be another kind of infection?”

  “Yes, maybe bacteria in the ventilating system or the water, or some virus carried by insects.”

  Neither of us mentioned the other possibility—sabotage by the same person or people who damaged all the computers in the compound, and snuffed out all the electricity.

  “Do we have to evacuate the compound?” George asked.

  “No, the investigators say they can work around us,” Morris answered.

  “The best bet is food poisoning, and they should be able to find out if that’s what this is very quickly,” I pointed out. “Then the investigation turns immediately from what to who.”

  “Well, shutting down this production for two days is a financial disaster,” Morris said. “But I’m not giving up yet. I’m going to spend that time trying to raise more money. If I don’t get it, the shutdown might be permanent.”

  “I should have all the computers online by tomorrow,” George promised. “And Bess said she’d have the generators hitched together before then.”

  “That’s true,” Bess said, walking up. “Maybe sooner. Boy, this food poisoning was awful, wasn’t it? I’m so glad we didn’t eat any breakfast.”

  “Me too,” Morris said. “I’d been so busy working out the new schedule with Rita, I hadn’t eaten yet either. I had planned on loading up a plate after I’d finished with the announcements. We were lucky.”

  “Now that you fired the caterers, what are you going to do about food up here?” George asked.

  “I hadn’t even thought about it yet,” Morris said.

  “I work with my mother,” George said. “She’s the best caterer in River Heights. And she’s never poisoned her customers,” she added with a crooked smile. “I’ll check with her if you want.”

  “That would be great,” Morris said. “It’s just one less thing I have to worry about. If she’s got the time to take us on, have her get the details from Rita.” He stood up. “Thanks again for all your help, girls. Keep me posted.” His shoulders were slumped as he walked out. I wondered how much more he could handle before he gave up.

  “What about the Musketeers?” Bess asked me. “Do you think they’d be capable of some of the stuff that’s been going on? Other than the hidden skunk, of course.”

&n
bsp; “Luther thinks they’re pretty low-key types,” I answered. “Not the kind of ruthless people who’d actually put someone in the hospital with food poisoning. But I still want to talk with them. I was originally scheduled to rehearse with Jake and the horses for part of this afternoon. If that’s still on, I’ll probably stop by the Musketeers’ camp later, or on the way in tomorrow morning.”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s a little after noon. I’ve got just enough time to run these food samples in to the lab before my session with Jake. Let’s check back with one another here around four.”

  “Sounds good,” George said. “I’m pretty close to breaking through the last electronic wall into the company computers. I might have news to report by then.”

  “I should have the generators humming by then too,” Bess said.

  Bess and George went off to their tasks, and I went to mine. I drove Bess’s car back to River Heights and the chemistry lab at the university, where a friend of mine was an assistant professor. I’d helped him with a case a few months earlier, so I knew he’d be happy to return the favor. I dumped all the food samples off with him, and he promised to begin checking them right away.

  When I got back to the movie compound, I reported to the menagerie. I spent a couple of hours working with Jake. He showed me how to ride on the bouncy seat of a buckboard without looking ridiculous. He also let me take the reins a couple of times for an exciting run along the bluff trail.

  After scheduling another session for the next day, I checked in with the security team. Both Jane and Dave were there.

  “Hi, Nancy.” Jane greeted me with a warm smile. “What have you got for us?”

  “I was hoping you had something for me,” I answered. “Have you heard anything from the fire investigators? Do they know whether the generator blowout was an accident or not?”

  “We’re pretty certain it wasn’t,” Jane said. “My key didn’t work in the padlock because it wasn’t the original lock. The company had not bought a new one, so we think it was put on there by the trespasser.”

  “To cover up the fact that someone had been inside,” I guessed. “Anyone who glanced at the door and saw the padlock would assume everything was okay.”

  “The new lock is very similar to the old one,” Dave added. “We compared advertising-brochure photos. But it’s a pretty common lock—it’d be hard to trace it to its point of purchase.”

  “Apparently the first lock was cut open,” Jane said. “We found shavings of metal matching the original lock on the ground beneath the doors. We also found traces of blood there.”

  “There was blood inside the semi, too, in the padding near the generator,” I pointed out.

  “That’s right,” Dave said. He seemed surprised. “So we could be looking for someone who already had an injury—or someone who scraped or cut their hand or finger while they were cutting the lock open.”

  “And it has to be an inside job,” I said, “by someone who knew the location of the generator and when it would be deserted.”

  “Someone who didn’t have a key to the lock,” Jane continued. “We have one here, the maintenance crew has one, and Morris has one somewhere.”

  “He couldn’t locate it this morning, though,” Dave pointed out.

  “The culprit had time to plan everything very carefully,” I continued, “which meant getting a backup padlock similar to the original. Have you noticed whether anyone in the cast or crew has a fresh wound, aside from Morris’s skunk bite?”

  “Jake Brigham has a half dozen new wounds a day,” Dave said. “Animal bites, scrapes and cuts from leashes and reins, punctures from bird talons.”

  “One of the carpenters stabbed his palm with a nail building the boat set,” Jane offered. “Rita sliced her finger with a drafting knife when she was making the new schedule board. Lee Chang pinched his wrist tightening a camera he’d mounted on a cherry picker. And Althea broke her nail grabbing her laptop when it started to fall. She saved the computer, but tore half her nail off in the process.”

  “I guess the question is, is there anyone in the company who couldn’t have bled on the generator,” I said. “This seems to be a company of the walking wounded.”

  “In more ways than one,” Jane said.

  We talked a little about scheduling a good time for a visit to the Muskoka Musketeers’ protest camp, and I left.

  At four fifteen I walked to the mess hall. A yellow crime tape was strung across the door, barring anyone from going in. Next door George’s mother had set up a tent to use until the original mess hall was cleared for food preparation again. Bess was waiting for me there.

  “George said to go ahead and eat,” she told me. “She’ll be here later.”

  Mrs. Fayne’s food was not only safer than the previous caterer’s, it was much better. Over burgers and fries, Bess and I caught up.

  “I’ve got good news,” Bess said. “We’ll have full power in about an hour. I’m waiting for a part that’s being constructed in the metal shop.”

  “Great job!” I told her.

  “I’m looking forward to getting started on the carpentry. There’s a lot of lost time to make up.”

  “Plus it’s more fun working with a shop crew than being all by yourself in that semi, I’ll bet.”

  “It is,” she said. Then she put down her burger. “You know, there’s a lot more work to do than just set building. Nancy, the morale is pretty low. I found that out when I was in the metal shop working on a generator part. More of the craftsman are talking about walking out.”

  “Because of the problems getting the film off the ground?” I guessed.

  “Yes, but Morris is part of it too. Some of the crew think that he might be in over his head, and that’s made him a little desperate.”

  “And they think he’s causing the problems?”

  “Well, one of the rumors I’ve heard is that he’s gotten so far over budget already—without any footage even shot yet—that he’s in a lot of trouble personally. Some people think he’s being forced to sabotage his own production as a way of getting out of the project without destroying his reputation in the industry.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” I told Bess. “But I’ve been fooled before.” I made it a rule long ago to follow every lead, no matter how strange it seems. “Sounds like it’s time to talk to Morris.”

  Just then my cell phone rang. It was my friend at the Riverview lab. We talked for a few moments, then I closed my phone.

  “It was definitely food poisoning,” I reported to Bess. “Salmonella. No way to tell whether it was intentional, of course, but he said there was enough to make a small army really sick. We’re lucky there weren’t more people stricken.”

  “Right,” Bess agreed. “And speaking of food, I have a message to pass on. Harold Safer is looking for you.”

  Mr. Safer loves the theater and show business. “I’m surprised it took him this long to get out here. What did he want?”

  “He brought a sample platter for Aunt Louise’s catering, but I saw him hanging around Herman Houseman’s trailer. I don’t think his main goal is selling cheese.”

  “Come to think of it, Mr. Houseman made his name on Broadway. I know he’s gotten at least a couple of Tony Awards. That’s enough to send Mr. Safer totally into orbit. Why did he want to see me?”

  “Nancy, you’re not just one of the workers out here. You’re in the cast—one of the actual actors! He probably figures you’re his best bet for an introduction to Herman Houseman.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

  When we finished eating, I packed up some of George’s favorite cookies and walked to the security trailer. I told Jane and Dave about my chemist’s report, and left the cookies. Then I headed for the office. I could hear Morris yelling inside as I approached the door.

  “Who do you think you are?” he said, “walking in here, telling me how to run my business!”

  “Do you think no one h
as heard about the problems you’ve been having out here?” I heard another man say. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it right away. “Protest demonstrations, generator blowups, food poisoning outbreaks—and worst of all, a script full of lies and distortion! This production has become a loose cannon—and it’s aimed right at River Heights.”

  “We’ve had some problems, sure,” Morris responded. “But I’ve spent nearly a year planning this film, and it’s going to be as historically accurate as I can make it. Nothing you can say will ever change my mind about that.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself. There are laws against slander,” the other voice continued. “You’re treading a fine line between portraying history and ruining the name of my family and the name of my corporation.”

  When I heard that, I realized who the other man was. When I opened the door, I was face-to-face with Jack M. Halloran, distant relative of the Rack-hams and CEO of Rackham Industries. He didn’t even seem to see me. Anger blazed from his eyes, and he wheeled back around to face Morris.

  “Shut down this production,” he warned. “Or I will!”

  Stunt Double

  Come on, Jack,” Morris said. He had dropped his angry tone and sounded now like he was talking to an old friend. “You don’t mean that. You know we’re trying to do the best job possible on this film—to make it not only exciting, but accurate. We’re not out to sensationalize your family’s history. I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Yeah? Well, understand this: Pack up and get out—or this will be your last production.” Jack Halloran spun around again, and for the first time, he seemed to notice me standing in the office doorway. He’s a big man; he looks as if he could swing a few anvils around himself. And just then he looked very angry as well.

  “Mr. Halloran, hello,” I said quietly. He seemed startled to hear my voice as he aimed his glare right into my eyes. “I’m Nancy Drew, remember? I haven’t seen you since—”