A Script for Danger (Nancy Drew Diaries #10)(16)

“Any news from base camp?” I asked, employing the term that I’d heard crew members using to describe the area where the trucks and trailers were parked.

Bess shook her head. “Everyone’s just running around looking for that pendant.”

“What about this morning? Did you lose track of Cora at any point?”

“Cora didn’t go into Zo?’s trailer,” George remarked, reading my mind. “We were watching her the whole time.”

I sighed. This case already had more twists and tangles than Alex’s screenplay.

To prepare for the next shot, a few crew members were placing pieces of metal track on the ground.

“That thing is cool!” George exclaimed when she saw it. “It looks like part of a carnival ride.”

“It’s called a camera dolly,” said Lali, coming up behind us. “I’ll tell you all about it for your article. . . .” She trailed off as she led us to the side of the inn, away from prying eyes and ears.

“We need to figure out what’s going on, Nancy,” Lali said urgently. “These pranks are slowing down the shoot, and a police investigation will only make it worse. We’re already over schedule, which means we are over budget. If this prankster strikes again, we may not have enough time or money to finish this movie. I need to know what you’ve got so far.”

“We’ve identified several possibilities—” I began, but Lali cut me off.

“Wait a minute! Ronan Beale!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him before!”

“Who’s that?” George asked.

“Ronan is Alex’s old college friend and former writing partner,” Lali explained. “A few years ago they got in a fight and stopped speaking. Then, last year—just when we had started casting The Hamilton Inn—Ronan threatened to sue Alex because he claimed the story was actually his idea.”

“That’s a motive if I’ve ever heard one,” I said, growing excited.

“Where is Ronan Beale now?” Bess asked.

“He lives in Los Angeles,” Lali replied, suddenly deflating. “Would he really fly all the way out here just to mess with Alex? That would be completely insane.”

“I’ve seen suspects go to much greater lengths to get revenge,” I said. “Do you have any way to get in touch with him?”

Lali nodded. “I’ll give his agent a call right now.” Before she could, her phone started ringing.

“It never ends!” She shook her head. “I’ll get you that number in a minute.” As she walked away to take the call, I asked George to look up Ronan Beale on her phone. I couldn’t help but overhear how agitated Lali sounded; whoever was on the other end of her phone call was clearly upsetting her.

“She can’t do that!” Lali hissed. “Can she? Well, fine then. I don’t know what to say!” She hung up, and then turned to face the three of us.

“That was someone from Mayor Scarlett’s office,” Lali muttered. “Apparently, Roberta Ely has filed an official petition to have our shoot removed from the fairgrounds!”





CHAPTER SIX





In Hot Water


AS THE SECOND DAY OF shooting wound to a close, the set moved to a room inside the inn. The sun had gone down, leaving a lingering chill in the air. Since there wasn’t much space indoors, many crew members had retreated to the warmth of their trailers. Meanwhile, Bess, George, and I sat on plastic chairs in video village, huddled under fuzzy blankets.

Lali had been on the phone all afternoon trying to negotiate with Ms. Ely, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. Despite this new wrinkle in the case, I was having a hard time accepting the idea that Ms. Ely was responsible for the pranks. She certainly wanted to shut down The Hamilton Inn, but she was pursuing her goal through legitimate channels. Even if I was willing to entertain the idea that she had planted an accomplice on the set to carry out these acts of sabotage, it led me right back to the same perplexing question: Who?

I was also intrigued by the idea of Ronan Beale, Alex’s embittered former writing partner. Google hadn’t turned up much on him, and though Lali had left messages for his agent, there wasn’t yet any response.

“Let’s see if we can get anything else out of Sal,” George suggested.

“Like more food?” Bess chided her cousin.

“Okay, okay, so our visit to the craft service table may serve a dual purpose,” George admitted.

As Bess stood up, George studied her cousin’s ensemble more closely. Bess had worn another pastel dress today, but when the temperature dropped, she’d borrowed a sweatshirt from the costume trailer and abandoned her prim sandals for a pair of galoshes, the only shoes Raina had in Bess’s size.

“I just realized what your outfit reminds me of, Bess,” she said, suppressing a smirk.

“What?” Bess asked innocently.

“It’s what Cinderella would wear on a fishing trip!” George snorted.

“Better than looking like one of the pirates who attacks her,” Bess retorted. Even though she likes feminine things, Bess is one tough cookie.

“Cinderella, fishing, pirates . . . this is starting to sound like the plot of a weird Disney movie,” I said, laughing along with them.