A Script for Danger (Nancy Drew Diaries #10)(25)

I nodded. “We’re meeting in a café, so there will be plenty of people around.”

“Be careful!” Bess called. I jumped into my car and drove away.



As I pulled into the parking lot of the River Heights Café, I noticed a fit, bald man with round glasses emerging from a clunky red sedan with California license plates. That must be him, I thought. In appearance, Ronan and Alex were complete opposites. Where Alex was casual, Ronan seemed formal and put-together. He was wearing a pressed button-down shirt and creased slacks and carried a leather briefcase.

By the time I entered the café, Ronan was sitting alone at a table.

“Ronan Beale? Hi, I’m Alison from the RHU Alumni Committee.”

He rose and shook my hand warmly. “Alison! It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”

He pulled out a chair for me and I sat down. If he was indeed guilty, he was the most gentlemanly criminal I’d ever encountered. The waitress returned with a coffee.

“Triple espresso,” she said, placing it in front of him, “and some chocolate-covered espresso beans.”

“That’s a lot of caffeine!” I observed.

“That’s what we do best!” the waitress chirped. “Would you like anything, miss?”

I shook my head politely. By the time the waitress had walked away, Ronan had already finished his espresso. He noticed me looking curiously at his empty cup.

“I’m on this new project, and the hours are intense. I was up all night!” he explained.

“Well, I’ll make this quick,” I said with a smile. Close up, I could see the physical effects of Ronan’s sleeplessness; his glasses actually magnified the deep rings under his eyes.

“By the way, it’s such a small world. I realized I’m friends with another filmmaker from your graduating class, Alex Burgess,” I began, curious to see Ronan’s reaction to hearing Alex’s name.

“Alex . . . ,” Ronan sputtered, clearly nervous. “You should have mentioned that on the phone.”

“Why?” I asked.

Ronan paused. “He’s a great guy. Talented, too,” he went on, “but we’ve had . . . differences . . . in the past.”

“Oh?” I said innocently, hoping to get him talking.

“Off the record . . . ,” he began.

“Yes, of course,” I promised.

“Alex and I used to be writing partners. To make a long story short, it ended because I tried to take credit for something that he wrote.” He sighed. “I’m not proud of it, but Alex is a better writer than me, and that made me crazy. I would work the same number of hours as he did—sometimes more—but couldn’t come up with a single premise. Meanwhile, Alex could generate a hundred ideas in just fifteen minutes.”

“That must have been frustrating,” I said. “Are you friends now?”

Ronan shook his head. “He hates me. I understand why, but . . . we were friends for a long time before moving to Los Angeles.” Ronan’s eyes misted over. “I wish we could put this behind us, but he refuses to speak to me.”

“Have you tried to contact him since you’ve been in River Heights?” I pressed. “You know he’s also here shooting The Hamilton Inn, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, that’s enough about Alex,” Ronan declared. “You want to know about what I’m doing now, right?”

“Yes, of course!” I exclaimed. “What is this mystery project that’s keeping you up at all hours?”

“I’m not writing anymore. I’m an editor now,” he said proudly.

“What does that entail?”

“The editor gets all the film footage from the set, then assembles it in the correct order to make the final movie. It’s like putting together a puzzle! After that, we add the music and the titles, making the film look like what you see in the theater. They say that a director gets to make his or her film three times: once during the writing process, once while filming, and then again in the editing room.” I could tell how excited Ronan was with his new choice of career. “I’m also doing visual effects, which is something I’ve always been interested in,” he added.

“Are you working on a feature right now?” I asked.

Ronan’s phone beeped, and he glanced down to read it.

“It’s a documentary, actually,” he replied. “In fact, I should be getting back to work now. Was that enough information for you?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll call if I have any other questions,” I said. He pulled some bills from his wallet, then paused.

“Does Alex know you’re meeting with me?”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him,” I answered. “Do you not want me to?”

“Oh, no. It’s fine. Just tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry,” Ronan mumbled, and scurried out into the parking lot. He’s in a hurry, I thought as I watched Ronan’s banged-up red car chug toward the traffic on Main Street.

As I drove back to the set, I grew increasingly skeptical about Ronan. He was an obvious suspect—a former rival who had been, and maybe still was, admittedly jealous about Alex’s success. As Bess had pointed out, it was too much of a coincidence that Ronan happened to be back in River Heights at the exact time that Alex was shooting his film here. Plus, I was curious about this mysterious project that was keeping Ronan up all night. I decided to ask Alex about it as soon as I had the chance.