002 Deadly Intent (10 page)

Ned shook his head no.

“I saw a few people I knew, but not Dave. Vivian, Mr. Marshall’s secretary, was down by the stage. And I saw Bess with Alan, not that she would talk to me.” Nancy slumped down in an armchair and stared blankly at the checkerboard of television screens.

Ned sat down next to her. A heavy bass beat filled the room as a wild music video came to life on all the screens simultaneously.

The song faded, and a familiar Bent Fender tune came on. Nancy watched the screen a bit more attentively. The video cut from one scene to another, a collage of different shots. As Barton launched into the chorus of the song, a crowd scene came on, men and women emerging from a subway station. In the crowd were the members of Bent Fender themselves and several other people Nancy recognized. Linda Ferrare’s cousin
was there—the boy George had been dancing with the night before—and a woman who was the female lookalike of Mark Bailey, the guitarist. His sister, Nancy surmised.

Fender had chosen to use people they knew, rather than using actors to fill out the crowd. Nancy spotted Ann Nordquist, and her stomach did a nervous flip-flop. Her father and Ann were out again this evening.

But she forgot about them, her eyes suddenly glued to a television screen. Coming up the staircase on screen was a couple, kissing. The man was short. He had longish wavy brown hair and a familiar-looking, stocky, muscular physique. In amazement Nancy stepped up to the television screens.

“Ned, you won’t believe this,” she said slowly.

“What?”

“In a way . . . we did find Dave.” Nancy pointed at the screen and at the same time tried to figure out who Dave was with. The girl’s face was mostly hidden, but when the twosome reached the top of the staircase and pulled apart, Nancy let out a gasp. “I can’t believe it! Ned,
look!
It’s
Vivian!
What if she and Dave are a number off the screen as well as on!”

Instantly, Nancy was running. “Come on, Ned. Vivian was just downstairs. We have to find her.”

Down the two flights of stairs Nancy flew, around the side of the dance floor and toward the
stage where she had last seen Vivian. Ned was right behind her.

She scanned the mass of people, picking out the back of Vivian’s jet-black coif. Marshall’s secretary was in the wings to one side of the stage, talking to someone. The person leaned forward, into the light, and Nancy saw his scowling face.
Alan.
He moved his hands wildly, saying something Nancy couldn’t hear.

Moving in closer, Nancy motioned to Ned to stay down below stage level where they wouldn’t be seen. The dance music stopped. Linda Ferrare was tuning her bass. Mark Bailey was adjusting one of his guitar strings. A surge of excitement raced through the crowd as they waited for the band.

But Alan and Vivian continued to face off. “No!” Alan said furiously. Nancy and Ned were close enough now to make out what he was saying. “It’s gotten totally out of control! I had no idea—”

“Save it, pest,” Vivian interrupted. “You’ll come around. I’m going to make absolutely sure of it.”

“No way, Vivian. As soon as the concert is over, I’m going to tell Nancy everything.

“And what’s more, I’m going to tell Bess too.” Alan looked behind him. Nancy couldn’t see through the dark curtain at the edge of the stage, but it was clear that Bess was back there, probably standing just out of earshot.

“But Alan,” Vivian singsonged nastily, “if you tell Bess what you know, you’ll have to admit that you lied about seeing Barton.”

“I knew it!” Nancy exclaimed under her breath.

“Your precious angel won’t like that one little bit,” Vivian mocked.

“I can only hope she’ll understand,” Alan said. “I never should have believed your stories in the first place.”

Nancy and Ned exchanged glances.

“The second I finish my last note, Vivian, you’re through.” Nancy could hear Alan’s footsteps as he stormed away and took his place on stage.

“Don’t count on it!” Vivian called out, her voice following him, and she let out a frightening laugh.

“What do you suppose she means by that?” Ned asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the sound of it.”

Nancy and Ned made their way to a table when they were out of Vivian’s field of vision. By then the band had assembled on stage, their instruments fully tuned, their sound levels set.

Alan was watching Jim Parker, seated behind his keyboard console. Jim gave an almost imperceptible nod, and the band let their first chords wail.

They were halfway into their second number when Alan’s amp began crackling with ear-piercing
static. He stopped playing immediately and fiddled with some dials on the equipment. Suddenly, sparks spewed from one of the wires. Someone in the audience screamed. Then the equipment went dead—and the club was plunged into total darkness!

W
HAT’S HAPPENING?” A
girl shrieked. “Is it a hold-up or something?”

“No,” someone else shouted. “It’s a fire!”

“Fire?” a man yelled fearfully.

Mass confusion broke loose.

Separated from Ned, Nancy was jostled from two sides as she inched in what she hoped was the direction of the closest wall. She waved her arms in front of her until her hands found the smooth, solid plaster. Turning, she pressed her back to it, squeezing out of the way of the hordes of people making blind, panicked dashes in every direction.

“Simon? Simon, where are you?” a woman
near Nancy was screaming, her voice filled with terror. “Simon, are you all right?”

“Stay calm!” Nancy called out to her. “The lights will be back on in a few minutes.”

“Simon!” the woman kept shrieking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please do not panic.” A new voice filled the air, loud and hollow. Someone was speaking through a megaphone. “The electrical short on stage caused a temporary power outage, but the electricity should be restored in a matter of minutes. Please stay where you are. I repeat, stay where you are.”

Nancy eased herself into a sitting position on the floor to wait. She could hear others do the same. But as the panic subsided, her own fears began to blossom in the overwhelming blackness. Had the power outage been an accident? Or was it perhaps a little too convenient, coming as it did on the heels of Vivian’s threat to Alan?

The minutes ticked away. Nancy prayed to herself that this would be no rerun of the night Barton disappeared. Then, suddenly, the power came flooding back on. Nancy blinked, needing to adjust her eyes even to the subdued lighting of the club. The band stood on stage, checking their instruments and amplifiers now that the electricity was working again. But one person was missing. Where was Alan?

Nancy felt panic rising in her throat. Then she noticed that the curtain shielding the backstage area from the audience had been pulled down, a
casualty of the frenzied rush of people immediately following the blackout. She let out a noisy sigh of relief as she saw Alan standing off to one side, staring at a sheet of paper.

Ned was still more or less where he had been before the power had blown. As he looked around, Nancy waved to him. He caught sight of her, his face softening with relief, and made his way across the room. Nancy kissed him quickly.

“Listen, Ned,” she said. “I’m going to go talk to Alan and see what he wanted to tell me. Maybe you should go look for George and make sure she’s okay.”

“What about Bess?” Ned wanted to know. “I don’t see her back there.” He looked behind the stage.

“I’ll ask Alan about her.”

“Meet you back here?” Ned asked.

“In ten minutes.” Nancy hoisted herself onto the stage and headed straight for Alan. She wasn’t bothered by any guards. They were trying to restore order in the club. The concert evening was over.

Alan stood rooted to the stage floor. He was staring blankly ahead of him, his cheeks pale, his eyes glazed. His right hand shook violently as he clutched his guitar.

“Hey,” Nancy called out gently. “Alan.”

He whipped his head around in her direction. “What?” he said, his voice as tight as a rubber band at the point of snapping.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy moved to his side and touched his arm. The hollow look in his eyes made her almost afraid to hear his answer.

“Wrong? Why should anything be wrong?”

“I heard you arguing with Vivian.”

Alan inhaled sharply but said nothing.

“I know you didn’t really see Barton,” Nancy prodded, “so why don’t you tell me the rest?”

Alan shook his head back and forth, never lifting his eyes to meet Nancy’s. “No. No, I can’t. You wouldn’t understand.” Nancy sensed the terror behind the stubborn words.

“How am I supposed to understand if you don’t tell me?” she asked. Only a short time before he had seemed so determined to let her in on whatever he knew. What horrible thing had happened while the lights were out to make him change his mind so completely?

“Alan,” Nancy persisted, “that blackout happened for a reason, didn’t it?”

“Please,” Alan begged, “I said I’m not talking.

“Okay. I can’t force you. But at least tell me where Bess is. I thought she was back here.”

Alan bit down hard on his lower lip, and Nancy could see it tremble.

“Oh,
Alan!”
Nancy cried. “It isn’t Bess, is it?” She held her breath. Alan didn’t utter a sound. “Alan!”

“She’s fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Bess is fine.”

“Where is she?” Nancy felt like a five-gear car being forced to run in first.

“She’s sick. She went back to the hotel.”

“Alone?”

“She took a taxi.”

“How’d she get out of here so fast? The lights just came back on. Besides, I saw her when I got here, and she looked fine.” Nancy reached for Alan’s shoulders and started shaking him. “What’s wrong with her? Tell me!”

“Hey, give me a break,” he protested weakly, stepping back. “She left by the back door—had a cold or the flu or something, and she specifically asked that no one disturb her later tonight.” Nancy listened to Alan’s story gain momentum. “She went back to the hotel to take some cold medicine and go to sleep, okay? Are you finished giving me the third degree?”

Nancy let her arms drop. “You mean Bess went home to take her Motocillan?”

“Motocillan. That’s right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Nancy shivered, despite the warm air inside the club. “Alan,” she said coldly, “if Bess ever took Motocillan, she could die. She’s allergic to it. Now tell me the truth.”

The guitar slid out of Alan’s hand. His knees gave out, and he slumped to the floor.

“I can’t. I can’t. If I tell they’ll . . .”

“Who’s they?” Nancy fought to stay calm. “Is
there anyone here you’re afraid of?” She motioned to the members of Bent Fender, who had gathered around nervously when they’d seen Alan collapse.

Alan shook his head.

“Then how is anyone going to know you told us?” Nancy asked softly.

“Because you’ll try to find her . . .”

“Bess? Then she’s not back at the hotel.” Nancy’s voice hardened. “Alan, what’s going on?”

Alan’s words came out in a jumbled rush. “You can’t go after her—the shipment—they’ll hurt her if the shipment doesn’t go out tonight. Please, just let them get it out . . .”

“What shipment? Alan, I swear, I’d never do anything to harm Bess. You’ve got to believe me.

Alan sighed deeply. “They grabbed her,” he rasped, “during the blackout so I wouldn’t tell you what I heard. I don’t know where they took her.”

“Who’s they? Vivian? Mr. Marshall?”

“Marshall?” Puzzled, Alan looked up. “No, not him.”

“You mean Vivian’s in on this, but Harold Marshall isn’t?”

“That witch,” Alan said through clenched teeth. “Everyone thinks Marshall is the boss, but Vivian’s got him running around in circles, and he’s too stupid and egotistical to realize it. He’s
like a marionette, and she’s pulling all the strings.”

“Of course!” Nancy nodded grimly. “How could we have been so blind? Roger, remember you said Vivian would do anything for Marshall? She buttered him up until she had complete control over him. Marshall’s huge ego made him take credit for all the ideas she fed him, which was exactly what Vivian wanted. That way, if anyone caught on to what she was doing, her boss would shoulder the blame. I almost fell for it too.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make,” Roger said. “Marshall’s personality doesn’t exactly make you want to give him the benefit of the doubt.” His mouth settled into a tight line. “Although he did offer you that record contract, didn’t he?” Roger turned to Alan.

Alan hesitated.

“You promise that nothing will happen to Bess if I tell you?” Alan asked again.

“Alan, we’re all Bess’s friends,” Nancy assured him. “I know she and I had that fight, but I love Bess. If anything happens to her—”

“Okay. You were right to think that Marshall offered me the contract just to get me to tell you I’d seen Barton. But I didn’t think about that, just like I didn’t realize that Marshall’s offer was
Vivian’s
idea. I didn’t see anything I didn’t want to see. I was so wrapped up in the idea of being famous . . .” Alan pounded his fist against the
floor. “This whole thing is my fault. If I hadn’t been so convinced I was star material, Bess would be safe right now.”