A Script for Danger (Nancy Drew Diaries #10)(7)

“Okay, so what do you propose?” Lali asked.

Alex pointed to me. “I think Nancy should stick around and try to figure out what is going on.”

Lali’s confused expression prompted him to continue. “I trust her. Mysteries are her specialty.”

“I know it may sound strange,” I offered, “but I’ve actually been solving cases here in River Heights for years.”

“Fine,” Lali said. “But no one can find out what you’re doing here.”

Alex nodded. “Yes. You can go undercover.” He paused. “How about the three of you are journalists researching an article about the first movie to be filmed in River Heights.” I noticed that his eyes sparkled whenever he was making up a story, no matter how small. “What do you think? You can use your real names, too. The whole crew is from out of town, so nobody knows who you are.”

“That makes sense,” I said. My friends and I had gone undercover on plenty of cases before.

“Great. Let us know what you find out,” Lali replied dismissively. She seemed to be going along with the plan mostly to keep Alex happy.

She then grabbed Alex’s shoulders firmly but affectionately. “Now we really have to get rolling. Come on, Alex. Are you psyched?”

Alex rubbed his hands together. “It’s time to make a movie!” he exclaimed as he walked off toward Brian’s trailer.

Meanwhile, Bess, George, and I hovered near the costume trailer. George’s fingers flew across her smartphone as she typed The Hamilton Inn into a search engine.

“Alex wasn’t kidding about people wanting him to fail,” George said. “Look at the comments on this article.”

She held out her phone so Bess and I could see what she was looking at: an article on a Hollywood industry website announcing the start of production on The Hamilton Inn. While a few of the comments were supportive, several were downright nasty: “I’ve never heard of this Burgess guy and this idea sounds dumb. Why would anyone finance this?” and “Brian Newsome is a no-talent jerk. Alex Burgess clearly doesn’t know what he is doing.”

“They’re all saying horrible things about people they don’t know,” Bess noted grimly.

“Because they can do it anonymously,” I said, handing George’s phone back to her.

“Do you think these comments give us a clue about the suspect?” Bess asked.

George shook her head. “I doubt it. These trolls mostly just like tearing people down with words. I can’t imagine one of them going out of his or her way to physically sabotage a movie shoot.”

“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.