A Script for Danger (Nancy Drew Diaries #10)(23)

Lali continued, “Alex and I have a legal and financial obligation to finish this film. I will no longer tolerate any of this. From now on, this set is closed. Only those who are absolutely necessary are allowed to be near the inn. I will be placing security guards at the entrance and exit.” Lali’s eyes were stern; she meant business.

“And I’m calling the police,” she mumbled quietly, pulling out her phone. I wasn’t about to argue with her. All the other pranks had been startling, sure, but they were harmless. This time, I could have been seriously hurt.

“Back to one, people!” Nysa announced, trying to restore order. George, Bess, and I lingered at the back of the lawn, keeping our distance from the set. Meanwhile, Cora, who had been filming the entire incident, had repositioned herself to capture Spencer and the electricians picking up the fallen light and carrying it away. Her behind-the-scenes documentary was getting to be almost as dramatic as the film itself.

However, when Alex noticed her, he quickly took his sister aside.

I couldn’t hear their conversation, but from Cora’s reaction, it wasn’t hard to guess that Alex had kicked her off the set again. She stomped back to base camp.

“Nancy!” Lali came running over as soon as she finished her phone call. “I’m so sorry this happened to you! Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded.

“I called the police.” She shook her head. “But none of these pranks classify as crimes except for the threatening note, and that was two days ago. They think the rest of the incidents were accidents or plain bad luck.”

“Maybe the suspect was targeting Nancy on purpose,” George speculated. “Or maybe she’s getting too close.”

“You may be right,” Lali said. “And that’s why I need to ask you three to take a step back. Please stop asking so many questions. We can’t risk anyone’s safety.”

“But we can’t let the prankster get away with this!” I exclaimed.

Lali shrugged. “He or she may have already done irreversible damage. Our budget was tight to begin with, but with these pranks slowing us down, we’ve been spending way more than I’d anticipated. I don’t think we have enough money left for the big graveyard scene,” she confessed. “I don’t know what to do. The graveyard is crucial to the film. It’s our big dramatic ending!”

“Quiet on set!” Nysa shouted.

“Girls, I’m sorry,” Lali said. “You can hang out at base camp, at least until everything has calmed down. Right now, I need to stay focused on making sure that there is a movie to save.”

She walked away before we could protest any further.

“You know, without the graveyard scene, the Fourth of July Carnival could go on as planned,” Bess pointed out as we walked away from the inn.

“That means that if Roberta Ely is somehow involved in these pranks,” I observed dolefully, “they’re working.”

We retreated to base camp with the rest of the “non-vitals.” Bess insisted that I sit down on one of the plastic chairs near the craft service table and sip water slowly, even though I felt completely fine. Moments later Spencer came running from the set. He was visibly perturbed as he rummaged around in his truck, and when he came out, he was furious.

“Who took my Phillips head screwdriver?” Spencer shouted. “This is so messed up. Come on, guys. I know I had it in my tool belt! I used it ten minutes ago!”

There was no answer.

“Maybe you lost it?” Omar suggested smugly.

“Thanks, man. That’s extremely helpful,” Spencer responded. “Seriously, whoever is taking my stuff needs to return it. Just leave it in my truck. No questions asked, okay?”

As I watched Spencer trudge back to the set, I noticed another figure moving through the woods . . . and quickly.

I tried to show Bess and George, but the person was moving too fast.

“It has to be Sal,” I whispered. “He’s taking the same route as he did yesterday!”

“You stay here, Nancy. Let us go,” Bess said.

She should have known that even a near miss with a falling light wasn’t enough to stop me from trailing a suspect.

The three of us tried to look as innocent as possible as we meandered around the edge of the woods. Finally we spotted the figure again. It was definitely Sal. We followed him into the trees, taking care to linger far enough behind him so that he wouldn’t hear our footsteps. However, he kept picking up his speed until he was practically running; and then he disappeared.

“Oh no,” Bess said, peering into the dense foliage in front of us. “We lost him. He could be anywhere.”

I glanced at the ground, where I noticed flat spots where the leaves had been trampled to mush.

“Look!” I pointed out. “He’s obviously been going along this path regularly. He accidentally paved a trail.”

We followed the path of crushed leaves and arrived at a clearing near a small pond. Several feet from shore, Sal sat at a wooden picnic table with his back to us.

“Is he crying?” George whispered, noticing his shaky movements. I thought the same thing for a moment, but then, as I inched closer, I realized . . .

Sal was hunched over a book, taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly he turned around.

“You again!” he shouted, standing up. “Why can’t you let me have some peace?”